Loose Ends of New Canaan
by The Desert Ranger
Summary: The Legion has beaten the NCR and taken over the Mojave Wasteland. In the aftermath, Caesar enlists the former Courier, now a full fledged Frumentarius of Caesar's Legion, to travel to Zion Canyon and destroy the legacy of the Burned Man once and for all.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue: Loose Ends

Year 2282, three months following the Second Battle for Hoover Dam

City of New Vegas, the capitol city of Caesar's Legion

The elevator shuttered to a stop, signaling that the Courier had arrived on the top floor of the Lucky 38 casino. A creaking sound is issued from the gears of the elevator doors as they open. The Courier takes his first steps into the room beyond, eyes darting everywhere, surveying the huge space. The room was a huge circle, with the elevator sitting at the very center of the room. This room had apparently been an observation room of some kind, and the Courier imagined that before the Great War there would have been extravagant parties in this room. Huge windows covered the walls, offering panoramic views of the city of New Vegas.

Looking at the room itself, the Courier could see that it had been Legion-ified. Fire blazed in bronze braziers, the pelts of various animals covered the floor like rugs, and a huge Caesar's Legion bull flag covered one of the windows. The Courier noticed that some trophies were in the room as well. In one place he saw a mannequin covered in the battered armor of an NCR Heavy Trooper. There was a large hole in the chest plate, which appeared to be from a .50 caliber bullet, which had presumably been the deathblow of the armor's original occupant. Another mannequin was dressed in the armor of an NCR Veteran Ranger. The helmet of the leader of the Great Kahns was sitting on a small table, beside a set of Great Kahn leather armor. A torn and battered New California Republic flag hung on a small wooden pole. The cap worn by General Lee Oliver sat atop a bronze pike.

The throne of Caesar sat in front of the window that was covered by the Legion flag. It was the same throne that had originally been in Caesar's tent at the Fort. The great dictator himself waited for the Courier in the throne. Praetorian guards surround Caesar on all sides, armed with deadly ballistic fists, the strongest unarmed weapon in the Wasteland. The leader of the Praetorians, Lucius, was standing to Caesar's right. He caught the Courier's eye and nodded. Under the watchful gaze of the Praetorians, the Courier approached the throne.

He stopped walking when he was eight paces from Caesar. He was standing on a rug made from the scaly hide of a deathclaw. Judging by the size and color of the rug, it had probably been a deathclaw alpha male. The fleshless skull of a deathclaw alpha male was impaled on a pike nearby, probably the original owner of this skin. The scales rustled slightly when the Courier stepped on the rug.

Caesar stared at the Courier for a long time before finally saying "That armor suits you very well, Frumentarius." The armor he referred to was a full set of Vexillarius armor, including the fox helmet that partially obscured the Courier's face. Caesar had formally invited the Courier into the ranks of the Legion following the Second Battle for Hoover Dam, offering him a position as a Legion Frumentarius. Caesar has also given the Courier his new name, his Legion name: Sicarius. While Frumentarii had many different jobs, for now the only thing Sicarius had done as a Frumentarius was hunt down NCR troopers and Rangers.

While the NCR had fully abandoned the Mojave following their defeat at Hoover Dam, some Rangers and troopers had deserted and stayed behind. They had been thorn in the Legion's side for a good while now. The troopers usually made mistakes and were easily killed or captured, but the Rangers were much craftier. It didn't help that the majority of the Rangers who had stayed behind were Veterans who had once served in the Desert Rangers. Almost half of the First Recon sniper teams stationed in the Mojave had stayed behind, and they were causing a good deal of trouble as well.

Caesar stood up from his throne. His movement was still a little stiff, a result of the surgery that had removed his brain tumor and saved the dictator's life. The man who had performed the surgery, Arcade Gannon, was standing at Caesar's left. He was dressed in the garb of a Legion slave with a red cross painted on the front of his chest, staring at Sicarius coldly. The Courier had gotten the former Followers doctor enslaved, and the feeling of betrayal was clearly still strong. _Let him think whatever he wants_ Sicarius thought to himself. _I did what I had to do._

Caesar was healing well, and Sicarius imagined that in a few more weeks his movement would be completely normal. The dictator walked away from his throne and towards one of the massive windows. "Come, Sicarius," he called over his shoulder, motioning for the Praetorians to stay put. The former courier obeyed the summons, and the Praetorians let the two walk away undaunted. Arcade's gaze burned holes in Sicarius' back as he walked away.

Caesar led Sicarius to a window that was far enough away that they could talk at their regular speaking volume and not be overheard. For a moment Caesar didn't speak, he just looked out the window at the city below him. Since the Legion's occupation of the Strip the city had changed. The lights off the city were still bright, and none of the power had been turned off. The huge crowds still wandered the streets, going to the various casinos. But now men of the Legion wandered the streets as well, along with Legion dogs. The robots that had once patrolled the strip were gone, destroyed after the Legion took control of the Strip. The NCR embassy had been taken over as well, and all the NCR military police and personal that had still been in the city when the Legion took it had been killed. Ambassador Crocker had been one of those men. The Legion had marched on New Vegas directly after their victory at Hoover Dam, so many of the NCR personal stationed in the Strip had no time to flee.

The casinos no longer sold alcohol or chems, as both of those were prohibited by the Legion. Caesar had not put a stop to the prostitution, gambling, partying, and dancing, so the citizens of New Vegas still retained some of their freedoms. The cannibalistic White Glove Society had been fully integrated into the Legion, as had the Omertas, who had helped the Legion take control of the Strip. Their casinos were still in business, and doing quite well despite their new overlords. The Chairman had taken a bit of a hit, as they had not allied with the Legion before the Second Battle for Hoover Dam, but their casino was still very much alive. For the most part, life hadn't changed for the worse. If anything, the Families were benefited by the new management of the Strip. And the citizens of the Strip appeared to be, if not happy, at least content with their new situation. Of course, it probably helped that the Legion hadn't enslaved the lot of them.

Beyond the shining Strip sat the ruins of Outer Vegas: Freeside, Westside, North Vegas, and the Southern Vegas ruins. The majority of the people who lived in those areas had been enslaved, or, if they proved to be reliant on chems or alcohol, killed. The Kings gang of Freeside had been slaughtered after they refused to join Caesar's Legion. The Fiends, who had roamed the Southern Vegas ruins, had been exterminated after they failed to stop the NCR from escaping Camp McCarran. Not only had they failed to take over the NCR base there, but the whole lot of them had been addicted to chems. This reliance made them useless to the Legion, and they probably would have all been executed even if they had succeeded in taking Camp McCarran.

Looking out at the territory that now belongs to his Legion, Caesar spoke to Sicarius. "You did very well during the battle at Hoover Dam. Killing Colonel Moore would have been impressive enough, but General Lee Oliver himself? You've become someone greatly revered by my Legion. The Courier, the Monster of the West, the slayer of Moore, Oliver, and President Kimball." The dictator glanced sideways at his Frumentarius. "Lanius is getting a little antsy about it, you know. His strength and power lies in his title. He feels a little, shall we say, threatened by your new found fame. This isn't a bad thing, actually. It will give him a push to do even better, and believe me, Lanius is already an exceptional Legionary."

He looked back at the Strip below him. "I dreamed so long of claiming the Mojave, making New Vegas my Legion's Rome. I faltered a little when our first battle at Hoover Dam ended in defeat, but I refused to surrender. And look at how my faith has been rewarded." He gestured at all the lands from Vegas to the horizon. "But now that I have claimed this land, I realize that there are still some loose ends that must be deal with. There is one in particular that has been a thorn in my side for some time now. I want you to deal with it."

Caesar turned from the window and faced Sicarius. "The first disastrous battle at Hoover Dam was lead by my original Legate, the Burned Man. His name, which I have since forbidden my Legionnaires from saying, is Joshua Graham." The great dictator grimaced a bit when he said the name. "I had my Praetorian guards cover him in pitch, set him on fire, and toss him into the Grand Canyon. Somehow, against all odds, impossibly, he didn't die. My higher ranking Legionaries tell the slaves and recruits that the stories of the Burned Man walking are false, because I have told the Legion that those are just rumors." Caesar shook his head. "But Graham is still very much alive, and I know where he is."

Sicarius couldn't help but wonder at how this Joshua Graham had survived. It seemed impossible, an outrageous story to frighten slaves and recruits around a campfire. But if Caesar was certain that Graham lived… then Sicarius believed that the man had, somehow, survived something that would have killed anyone else.

"When he left the Grand Canyon he head for his hometown of New Canaan. A tribe in Utah, known as the White Legs, destroyed the city of New Canaan with the help of a Legion Frumentarius named Ulysses. While most of the population was killed, some thirty New Canaanites survived and fled. One of those survivors was Joshua Graham. He is now living among a tribe known as the Dead Horses, serving as their war chief. The Dead Horses currently reside in Zion Canyon. Turns out some of the New Canaanites chose to live among a tribe in Zion called the Sorrows. The White Legs are trying, so far without success, to destroy the two tribes and erase the legacy of the New Canaanites and Graham in the process."

Caesar paused from his story, and when he spoke again, a new layer of authority had entered his voice. "I want you to go to Zion, enlist the help of the White Legs, and finish the job that Ulysses started. These Sorrows and Dead Horses must be eradicated, along with the New Canaanites they harbor, especially Joshua Graham." Sicarius bowed slightly and said "As you command, glorious Caesar, so it shall be done."

Caesar nodded and said "I expect nothing left from you, Sicarius." He turned and looked out the window again. "To aid you in your mission, I am giving you command of three contubernia of Veteran Legionaries and some of the Legion's best Frumentarii. The Veteran Decanus named Brutus leads them, and he will serve as your second in command." Sicarius almost whistled. Three contubernia was a total of twenty-four Legionaries. The fact that Caesar was willing to give Sicarius command of that many Veteran Legionaries showed just how important this mission was to him.

"One of the Frumentarii is named Cato. You should remember him, as he was your contact before you assassinated President Kimball. He was one of the Frumentarii who first made contact with the White Legs. While not as familiar with them as Ulysses was, he still knows enough about them that he should prove useful to your mission. I want Graham dealt with badly enough that I would send Ulysses with you, but I haven't heard from him in years. I can only assume that he is dead." Sicarius resisted the urge to mention that Ulysses was very much alive, and was even now sitting at the entrance of the Hopeville Silo, looking down at the storm ravaged wreckage of the Divide.

Sicarius had launched the nuclear missiles that Ulysses had activated, destroying sections of the NCR's territory, including a large section of the Long 15. Not only had this destruction killed hundreds of NCR soldiers and civilians, but it had also made it much more difficult for the NCR army to escape the Mojave after the Second Battle for Hoover Dam. The army had been forced to climb through the mountains or around them to avoid the areas destroyed by nuclear fire. This had dealt even more deaths to an already horribly injured army, with many troopers dying of starvation or dehydration on the long trek back to California.

For the next few minutes Caesar discussed how Sicarius was going to get to Zion Canyon. He gave him a map of the Northern Passage, which Sicarius was to lead his men through to reach Zion. The Legionaries already had all the supplies that would be needed for the trip, but Caesar told him how long the trip would be so that Sicarius could plan appropriately for what supplies he should take for himself. Finally Caesar dismissed him, telling him to go back to ground level, where he would meet Brutus and the Legionaries Sicarius would be leading. Sicarius bowed once more and then left, eager to start his mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 1: Among the White Legs

Two weeks after the Courier's meeting with Caesar in New Vegas

Three Marys, the base of operations of the White Legs in Zion Canyon

Sicarius tightens the straps on his Vexillarius armor, shrugging his shoulders to make sure that the armor fits right. Before he joined the Legion he had always worn his courier duster, and he still hadn't gotten used to wearing this armor. He pulls on his fox head helmet and grabs his weapons. A sheath is attached to the armor on his thigh, carrying his personal melee weapon, a machete gladius. His rifle is lying on the sleeping mat at his feet. It's a brush gun, a high powered rifle that fires .45-70 Gov't rounds. Brush guns were one of the preferred firearms of the NCR's Veteran Rangers. Sicarius had only owned this weapon for about five months, but he had found it to be a wonderful replacement for his old trail carbine. The brush gun was powerful, accurate, its lever action could be worked very quickly, and its peep sight was easy to use. Sicarius had modified his brush gun in several ways. He had given the rifle a forged receiver, which increased the rifle's durability, and increased the length of the feeder tube of the gun, which gave the rifle a bigger ammo capacity. Sicarius had also played around with the lever action a bit, getting it to move more smoothly and more quickly.

Following the Legion's victory at Hoover Dam, Caesar had made a move on the Gun Runners manufacturing plant just outside of Freeside. The plant was guarded, but it lacked enough guards to defend against five contubernia of Legionaries. Most of the guards were killed in minutes, and those who tried to flee were shot down as they ran. A few guards tried to hide inside the factory, but the Legionaries used dogs to find those cowering guards and kill them as well. Most of the factories gunsmiths were unarmed, and the few who resisted were executed.

With the Gun Runners factory under Legion control, the Legionaries now had access to much better firearms. Caesar forced the remaining gunsmiths to keep the factory running, pumping out powerful ammunition and weaponry for his Legionaries. For the first time Caesar's Legion had weaponry that rivaled that of the NCR army. All the Veteran Legionaries and Frumentarii under Sicarius' command benefited from this. They were armed with brush guns, riot shotguns, grenade launchers, and 12.7mm submachine guns. Sicarius even had a few sharpshooters under his command, who also carried powerful .308 caliber sniper rifles, upgraded with carbon fiber parts to reduce weight and suppressors.

Sicarius slings his rifle over one shoulder and exits his tent. The Legionaries had carried tents and sleeping mats with them to Zion Canyon. It had been suspected that the White Legs wouldn't have these accommodations readily available for the Legionaries to use. Sicarius' eyes are dazzled briefly by the bright orange sun on the horizon. He blinks a few times and looks around at the scene of morning at Three Marys.

The Legionaries have set up their tents in a clearing within the Three Marys. The tents were arranged in a circle, with a large fire in the center surrounded by rocks and logs for Legionaries to sit on. All of the Legionaries are awake and out of their tents. Some are preparing breakfast, cooking up gecko and bighorner steaks along with various vegetables and herbs. Other Legionaries are sharpening their melee weapons on whet stones. Some of the men are sitting around the fire while they do firearm maintenance. Five Legionaries are doing push-ups and various other stretches and muscle exercises. Sicarius hears the clang of metal striking metal and notices two of his Legionaries sparing with their machetes.

Beyond the Legionaries lies the rest of the Three Marys. White Leg tents are set along paths and on ledges, with war totems usually somewhere nearby. The White Legs themselves are going through their own morning activities, but many of them are just watching the Legionaries, clearly fascinated. _If anyone should be staring, it should be the Legionaries_ Sicarius murmurs to himself. Even by tribal standards, the White Legs looked strange. Their skin was covered in white chalk like powder, with red war paint on their faces. They did their hair in dreadlocks, which looked eerily similar to the hairstyle worn by the Courier Ulysses. Sicarius knew why, though, as he had discovered a holotape let behind by Ulysses that explained where the hairstyle came from. The White Legs had done their hair that way in reverence of Ulysses, the man who gave them their first great victory.

Like most tribals, the White Legs wore clothing made from animal hides. It offered little in the way of protection, but fortunately for them most of their enemies were not well armed. When Sicarius had first heard that the main weapons of the rival tribes in Zion were wooden clubs and yao guai gauntlets, he couldn't believe that the White Legs hadn't eradicated them already. He could only assume that with Joshua Graham on their sides the two tribes had become much more formidable.

The White Legs didn't know how to live off the land, so they couldn't farm or raise livestock, but at least they were capable of cooking their own food. Sicarius notices that some of them are eating food from pre-war cans, such as pork and beans. The White Legs were a tribe of raiders and scavengers, so any food they had was either looted from pre-war grocery stores or raided from caravans or rival tribes. Sicarius notices that some of the White Legs were not preparing food at the campfire, but instead were making poisons or tribal remedies. The White Legs were well known for their dark datura poison, which they coated their melee weapons in, and their weapon binding rituals, which gave them increased strength with unarmed and melee weapons.

Some of the White Legs are building makeshift weapons, and Sicarius watches them with interest. Some were making shishkebabs , a type of sword that was attached to a gas tank, allowing the user to light the blade on fire. Another weapon that the White Legs were making was the bladed gauntlet, an unarmed weapon that consisted of three sharpened blades that were lashed around the user's fist. Sicarius also notices some White Legs making a mantis gauntlet, one of the more interesting unarmed weapons the Frumentarius has ever seen. The "blade" of the weapon is the severed forearm of a giant mutated praying mantis, fitted to some metal bars and tied around the user's arm. Other White Legs are building makeshift incendiary grenades, which they refer to as fire bombs.

As he looks around the camp, Sicarius notices that the camp has few children and no tribals are over the age of forty. Considering the fact that the White Legs are essentially nothing but raiders and scavengers, it wasn't surprising that the young, the old, and the weak had a hard time surviving in this tribe. Sicarius couldn't help but wonder how old the Chieftain of the White Legs was.

Suddenly Brutus appears at Sicarius' side, silent as a ghost, a trait that would have made him a great Frumentarii. "Our hosts have sent an emissary to take you to the White Legs' chieftain, Salt-Upon-Wounds. I told him that you wouldn't go without an escort, and he had no argument." Brutus says without a greeting. Sicarius doesn't bother mentioning that the White Legs would never deny a Legionary anything he asked. They revere Caesar's Legion too much.

Brutus leads Sicarius back into the Legionary camp, where a White Leg man is waiting for them. He stares at the two Legionaries approaching him with reverence, as though two gods were striding towards him. "Lords," the man begins. "I have come with greetings from the White Legs' great chieftain. I have come to take you to him." Sicarius can't help but notice that the tribal doesn't sound entirely sure of himself. _No surprise there. He's been taught to treat Legionaries as lords but still ultimately takes orders from another White Leg. Wonder what he would do if my orders contradict the orders of his chieftain?_

"Lead on, then," Sicarius says to the White Leg. The man nods excitedly and leads them out of their camp. The three men walk along the river, going deeper and deeper into the White Legs' stronghold. Unlike the rest of Zion Canyon, which is filled with wildlife, the Three Marys is empty of any form of life, save for the White Legs and their mongrels. If any wildlife had once lived here, it all been killed off long ago.

The number of White Legs continued to increase as Sicarius and Brutus were lead deeper and deeper into Three Marys. The tribals watched the Legionaries in awe, practically dumbstruck. Dogs were gnawing at bones and scraps of food, but even they paused to stare at the passing Legionaries, heads cocked in curiosity. The White Legs had never domesticated animals themselves. White Leg mongrels were actually given to the tribe by Caesar's Legion. They were intelligent, loyal, disciplined, and vicious fighters.

Their escort leads them to the very end of the Three Marys, which consist of a large clearing filled with tents, war totems, and White Legs. In the very center of the clearing sits a huge hut, guarded by a dozen White Legs. The escort leads Sicarius and Brutus to the hut and beckons them inside, but makes no move to follow them. The door of the hut is simply a slice in the blue fabric, with a flap that closes over it. The two Legionaries duck inside, and the escort closes the tent flap behind them.

The interior of the hut is dark, with the only source of light a small hole in the middle of the hut's roof. A sleeping mat sits in one corner of the room, covered in thick furry pelts. Looking around, Sicarius can't help but notice that the hut reminds him of Caesar's throne room, filled with trophies and spoils of war. The carpet is made from the pelt of a yao guai, with the bear's massive head still attached. Other carpets are made from the pelts of wolves and geckos. Various trophies, obtained from tribes the White Legs conquered or through raiding, litter the hut. In the center of the hut, sitting in a throne made of wood and metal, is the chieftain of the White Legs, Salt-Upon-Wounds.

The chieftain wears the same hide armor and white chalk of the other White Legs. Unlike his subordinates, however, Salt-Upon-Wounds wears a helmet on his head, made from scavenged refuse and the jawbone of a horse. The faceplate of the helmet has been painted in the likeness of a human skull. The back of the helmet is decorated by a headdress of beads. His right hand is covered by a modified power fist, painted with tribal markings.

The chieftain bows when the Legionaries enter the room. "My lords," he says, speaking his English instead of the language of the White Legs. His speech is somewhat slow, but it is clear that the chieftain is at least comfortable with the language. "I am the chieftain of the White Legs, Salt-Upon-Wounds. I hope our stronghold is to your liking."

"The Three Marys suits us just fine, chieftain." Sicarius says, his voice dripping with authority. The message is clear: _you may be the chieftain of the White Legs, but I am Legion and you are subordinate to me._ If Salt-Upon-Wounds senses the hostility in the message, he doesn't show it. His demeanor remains like that of a gracious host talking to a pair of prestigious guests. "What brings you great lords of the Legion to our stronghold?"

"We come with orders from the great Caesar to destroy the legacy of the New Canaanites and to annihilate the Sorrows and the Dead Horses." Sicarius responds. The face of Salt-Upon-Wounds in hidden behind his helmet, but his body seems to stiffen slightly. _You know what this is, don't you, chieftain? A sign of your failure to do what Caesar ordered you tribe to do._ "Glorious Caesar told us that the White Legs would be more than willing to aid us in our mission." Brutus says, his voice level, concealing the hidden malice in the message. Salt-Upon-Wounds nods and says "Of course, lords. The White Legs will do whatever we can to help you complete your task."

Sicarius takes a step closer to the chieftain and says "The mission I have been sent to complete is the same mission that Caesar gave to you years ago, through Ulysses." Salt-Upon-Wounds straightens slightly at the name Ulysses, a sure sign that even he reveres the former Frumentarius. "You have been trying to complete this mission for not weeks, not months, but **years**. Now Caesar has seen fit to send me and my Legionaries to finish this mission, as the White Legs have proven that they cannot complete it themselves." Sicarius raises a hand to ward of any argument from the chieftain. Salt-Upon-Wounds settles in his throne, resigned.

"In return for destroying the legacy of the New Canaanites, the reward of the White Legs was that they would be allowed to join Caesar's Legion. You and your people still want that reward, don't you, chieftain?" Salt-Upon-Wounds nods rapidly but says nothing. "You will help us with our mission." Sicarius continues. "You will obey everything I say, you will deny us nothing, you will do everything in your power to help us complete our mission." Sicarius pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out in a whisper. "And if you perform admirably, if you obey unflinchingly, if you prove yourselves worthy… you shall have your reward, chieftain."

Salt-Upon-Wounds rushes to assure the two Legionaries that his tribe would do everything asked of them, that they would be worthy of Caesar's Legion. Finally Sicarius cuts off his groveling speech and says "I have some scouts that I would like to send out into the canyon. As your tribe has been here much longer than we have, I expect that you have some good scouts who know the lay of the land." The chieftain nods and says "Of course, lords."

"Gather six of your best scouts and send them to my camp. From there I will give them their orders." Sicarius says. The chieftain readily agrees to the task. "In that case, this discussion is over for now, chieftain. When next we must speak, I will come to you." Sicarius turns and leaves the hut, Brutus following close behind. Salt-Upon-Wounds bids them goodbye, as if he had dismissed them. The Legionaries head back to their camp, ignoring the stares of the White Legs.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 2: Into Zion

Zion Canyon, Utah

Along the Virgin River, near Dagger's Point

Frumentarius Sulla stands on the edge of the mound that is Dagger's Point, looking out at the riverbanks of the Virgin River and the nearby hills. He is wearing light weight Legion Explorer armor, a type of armor usually given to the Legion's most experienced Explorers. It offers little in the way of protection, and Sulla would never wear it in actually combat, but he is currently on a scouting mission, so the extra speed is necessary.

Standing beside Sulla is a scout from the White Legs. The warriors of the tribe have various names, and this scout is what the tribe calls a pain-maker. These warriors specialize in melee combat. This scout is carrying a fire axe, the edge dripping with dark datura poison, and has a leather bandolier on his chest that holds six poisoned tomahawks. The tomahawks are makeshift throwing weapons created by the White Legs. Two railways spikes are attached to a pipe with electrical cable, while feathers, paint, and beads decorate the top of the weapon.

The scout didn't tell Sulla his name, and the Frumentarius has no interest in the name of a tribal anyway. As far as the Legionary is concerned, the White Legs are tools to be used and discarded, nothing more. He could only hope that the tribals would prove to be effective tools, as opposed to blunt instruments.

Sulla is armed with a bandolier full of throwing knives and throwing hatchets, a machete at his waist, and a 10mm submachine gun modified with a combination suppressor/recoil compensator, which made the firearm more accurate and silenced. Instead of standard issue magazines, Sulla used extended magazines, which gave the SMG a capacity of forty bullets. Because the only threats in Zion Canyon were unarmored tribals and mutated animals, Sulla was using 10mm hollow point rounds.

Across the river a small herd of bighorners are grazing in a patch of banana yucca plants. The herd consists of two bulls, four adult females, and six calves of varying ages. Usually bighorners are rather placid animals, but with the presence of three calves the adults become very wary. The bull keeps eyeing Sulla and the White Legs scout, snorting indignantly in their direction. No carnivores seem to be lurking nearby, nor are any tribals hunting the beasts.

Sulla has been skulking about Zion for five hours, but had yet to see any sign of the canyon's two tribes. The White Legs had said that the Sorrows sent out hunters and gathers and the Dead Horses had their scouts and spies. So far, though, neither tribe was willing to reveal itself.

So far the scout with Sulla had been leading him through the center of Zion, heading for various high areas from which the Frumentarius could get a good lay of the land. Currently he was being lead toward a place called the Aerie, which was one of the many ranger stations that could be found all around Zion. From his spot at Dagger's Point, Sulla could see the Aerie rising on the top of a nearby hill. The quickest way to get to it would be to cross the river. This would mean, however, that Sulla and the White Leg scout would be treading dangerously close to the bighorner herd. Adults were known to be incredibly and dangerously aggressive when they had calves around.

"We'll cross the river here," Sulla says to his White Leg companion. The scout looked at him warily and said "Lord, it be better to walk around the h-" He stopped when Sulla glared at him angrily. The scout could speak English, and a little bit of the Latin that the Legion primarily spoke. Unfortunately, his grammar was not very good and he spoke haltingly. Still, in most instances Sulla could understand the scout just fine. For a White Leg, this man was very reserved, even fearful. _Maybe that's why he's a scout. Not because he's good at stalking and killing quietly, but because he's no good in a straight up fight._

"We ford the river," Sulla said to the scout, voice tight. "Now." The scout averted his eyes from the angry Legionary, but didn't argue. Sulla quickly hops down the side of the small hill, splashing into the water below. The scout follows right behind him, taking the lead as they cross the swift river. According to the White Legs, Zion is currently in its rainy season, so the river is running higher and faster than usual. It's a minor inconvenience, but Sulla can deal with it.

The adult bighorners eye the two men suspiciously as they near the riverbank. Sulla edges around the herd, the scout in tow, and they manage to make it around the beasts without any problems. As they walk away over a small hill, the adults continue to stare at them until they are over the hill and out of sight.

"You see, degenerate? There was nothing to fear." Sulla says to the scout. The man nods and says "You were right, lord." Sulla snorts and continues walking, heading toward the path that leads up the high hill to the Aerie.

They are just nearing the top of the hill when the scout suddenly stops. "Quiet, Lord. Listen." Sulla comes to a dead stop, crouching slightly, listening carefully for whatever the tribal has heard. He hears what sounds like breathing, barely audible over the ambient noises of Zion. Sulla recognizes that the breathing must be from an animal, and a large one at that, but what it is in particular, he can't say.

"Yao guai," the White Leg says. "The most dangerous beast you will ever see, lord." The name was familiar, something Sulla had heard from both the White Legs and from travelers who claimed to have seen the beasts in other parts of the Wasteland. The yao guai was a mutated bear, a ferocious, slobbering beast, known for its powerful muscles, sharp teeth, and bone snapping jaws. While not nearly as dangerous as a deathclaw, or a large group of fire geckos, the yao guai were still creatures that should not be trifled with. Sulla was not going to let his mission be stalled by a beast, no matter how great it was.

Sulla grabs his SMG, and the scout takes the motion as a hint to ready his axe. He doesn't try to talk the Legionary out of battling the mutated bear. Evidently the scout has decided that it is just in his best interest to comply with his orders. Armed, the two men run up the hill, ready to attack the beast above.

Sulla had seen deathclaws before, and golden geckos, and giant radscorpians, and cazadors, and fire geckos. Still, his first encounter with a yao guai was an awesome moment. The beast was big, considerably larger than a man, with thickly muscled limbs, wide clawed paws, a thick neck carrying a large head, and a frightening toothed maw. Its flesh was greenish-brown, with almost no hair at all, which in some ways reminded Sulla of the grossly irradiated ghouls he had seen elsewhere. It stands up on its two hind legs, in a gesture oddly reminiscent of a man, watching their approach. The animal's eyes register the two men with no fear, a clear sign that the creature was unafraid, having always been on the top of the food chain. _But not today, beast. On this day, you will become prey._

Sulla stops running and brings up his SMG in a good strong two-handed grip. He aims down the gun's sight at the bear, holding his breath as he squeezes the trigger. Two 10mm hollow point rounds tear through the beast's chest. Red blood, with flecks of green in it, pours out of the wounds. The yao guai drops to its fours and roars, bearing its wickedly sharp teeth. Sulla squeezes off another burst, putting three bullets into the beast's shoulder. Roaring in anger, the mutated bear charges at Sulla.

The White Leg scout grips his axe tightly, reading for a brutal close quarters fight that he may not survive. Sulla calmly aims at the yao guai's head, pulling the trigger when the bear is only a meter away. Five hollow point bullets rip through the open mouth of the mutated monster. They are sent tearing through flesh and bone before coming out the back of the bear's head, bringing bits of brain and bone with them. The yao guai falls to the ground, the dead body collapsing at Sulla's feet. The dead eyes of the bear seem to look at him in shock.

Sulla calmly ejects the magazine out of his SMG and pulls some more hollow points out of a pocket, choosing to refill the magazine instead of just grabbing a full one. He has all the time in the world, now that the yao guai is dead. The scout stares at him, mouth agape, eyes wide in astonishment. He lowers his axe and says "No one has ever killed an adult yao guai alone. Only the best can serve Caesar, it seems." His tone is reverent and respectful, with a slight tinge of fear. _Directed at me, or the fact that Caesar might not absorb the White Legs into the Legion?_ Sulla wonders.

Holstering his SMG, the Frumentarius says "There are tougher beasts in the Wastelands of the Mojave and New Mexico." The scout's eyes widen even more. "Maybe one day you and your tribesmen will get to see them." Sulla continues, reassuring the scout in himself and the White Legs. _Not likely, but Sicarius strikes me as the kind of man who would rather absorb a group than kill them. Not a butcher, not like Lanius. Still, he serves his purpose. Caesar certainly can find use in a man who can recruit other tribes. He'll need them for the coming war in California, at the heart of the Bear._

Sulla walks by the dead body of the yao guai, heading for the Aerie. The scout follows him up the old wooden stares to the top of the small ranger station. While this is not the highest spot in Zion, or even in this particular area, it does give Sulla a descent view at the nearby landmarks. He sees some caves in the side of the mountains, near the edge of the river, and plenty of red rock and soil, along with numerous trees and bushes and flowers. In the west he spies what appears to be a cazador next, which he makes note of. Sicarius will want to know where that nest is, as it would be best if the Legionaries and White Legs could avoid that particular obstacle. Sulla sees a large herd of bighorners in a meadow filled with banana yucca plants to the south of the Aerie. In the east, the river winds through the red hills of Zion Canyon. In the north Sulla sees a large red mountain, the perfect spot to get a vantage point over the land.

Sulla points at the mountain and says to the scout "What do your people call that?" The scout follows his gaze and says "Ah, that is the Sun Sentinels. Gives a good view, used by many White Legs." Sulla looks back at the mountain and says "So there is a path we can use to scale it?" The scout nods enthusiastically. "Lead on, scout." Sulla orders, and the two men head back down the stairs of the Aerie.

As they walk towards the Sun Sentinels, Sulla picks a few fruit off of a cactus plant they pass. The scout imitates him, grabbing a few of the juicy cactus fruit and eating them only after Sulla takes the first bite out of one of his. For a tribe that knows how to make many varieties of poisons and potions from plants, the White Legs seem to have next to no knowledge on what plants are edible. Juice runs down the man's chin as he bites into the ripe fruit, and he smiles as the sweet taste explodes on his tongue. _So violent, so warlike, and yet, somehow, the White Legs are almost like children _Sulla muses.

Sulla and the scout stop suddenly when they hear a sharp hissing noise. The noise seems to build up, and it becomes clear that multiple entities are making the noise. Sulla grabs his SMG, while the scout brandishes his axe. "Green geckos," he says. "Careful, they spit acid, can blind you if it gets in eyes." Sulla nods appreciatively and looks around for the geckos. They are in a meadow like area, filled with trees and bushes, so the beasts could be hiding just about anywhere. Sulla turns when he hears rustling behind him, but finds nothing in the bushes there. Just as he starts to turn, a green glob of some kind of sticky material shoots out of the bush, right at his face.

Sulla drops to his knees, the acidic spit passing right over his head. He shoots off into the bush, and is rewarded with a reptilian screech and a burst of green blood. He fires two more bullets, and the gecko is quieted. But judging by the hissing Sulla hears, more are on the way.

A gecko, covered in green scales, with a large head housing big red eyes and powerful jaws, leaps out from behind a tree. The White Legs buries his axe blade in the beast's stomach, stopping the dog sized gecko in mid leap. As the gecko falls to the ground, blood pouring from the tear in its stomach, the scout finishes it off with a swing to the neck, nearly decapitating the beast. Sulla nods at the tribal warrior, and the scout returns a savage grin. His eyes are filled with blood lust.

Three geckos burst out from some nearby bushes, running for the two men at full speed, mouths opened greedily and claws at the ready. Two of them are slightly larger than dogs, while the third is as large as a man. The White Leg warrior runs at the geckos, axe poised. Sulla opens fire on the largest gecko, putting a line of hot lead into its chest until it collapses in the dirt. Blood pours from the bullet holes, trailing bits of bone and viscera. The gecko makes a strangled cry, while its limbs twitch and its tail flops around like it has a mind of its own. Just to be sure, Sulla puts one more bullet through one of the gecko's bulbous red eyes. The gurgling is cut off, but the body continues to twitch.

Meanwhile, the scout has reached the first of the remaining geckos. He slams the axe head right in the mouth of the leaping gecko, spraying blood in the dirt and knocking teeth out of the beast's skull. The head of the gecko snaps back, and Sulla hears a crack as the neck vertebrae snap. The final gecko is almost upon the scout, and Sulla shoots at it. His aim was off, the two hollow point rounds only hit the gecko in its left leg, but it's enough to slow the beast down. Its leg giving way underneath of it, the gecko collapses before it can leap at the White Leg scout. The warrior tribal swings his axe down once, twice, three times before the gecko can scramble to its feet. The hissing comes to a complete halt, and the meadow is silent again.

The White Leg scout is breathing heavily, looking around wildly for another gecko to kill. Blood and datura poison drip off of the end of his axe. "Thank you for your help, lord," he says to Sulla, flashing that frightening grin again. "The gecko might have had me if it wasn't for you." Sulla nods, looks around for any sign of more threats, and reloads his SMG. His heart is beating rather quickly, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Sulla finds himself wishing that the battle wasn't over, that more of the beasts would come, but for now his hunger for battle will not be satisfied. Sighing, he holsters the SMG. The White Leg seems just as disappointed as the Legionary is. _Maybe there is more to these tribals then I thought. This one is a capable fighter, and he enjoys it. That's something the Legion can use in its Legionaries._

The scout points at the Sun Sentinels, which is rising before them. "Shall we continue, lord?" Sulla nods, and the scout leads him up the side of the mountain. The trip is uneventful, and in a few minutes the two men reach the top. Sulla stands up at the highest point of the Sun Sentinels and looks around. It seems as though the entire canyon is arrayed before him. "Yes," Sulla says to the scout. "This will do nicely." He pulls a piece of thick paper out of a pocket, along with a pre-war pencil. He starts to draw a map of the canyon, using a rock to support the paper as he draws. Sulla regularly asks the scout for the name of certain landmarks before writing them down beside their position on his map. After about a half hour, the Frumentarius looks at his map and smiles, satisfied.

Sulla turns to the scout, looking at the sun behind him. The sun is reddish-orange, coming close to the horizon as it starts to set, sending its light over the canyon. "It's about time we returned to the Three Marys, I think. Lead on, warrior." The White Leg scout seems proud to be called a warrior by a Legionary. The two men head down the mountainside, back towards the Three Marys camp. Zion Canyon plunges into darkness as the sun sets over the mountains, disappearing totally from view.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 3: The Storm Gathers

Zion Canyon, Utah

Angel Cave, located in the Dead Horses Camp

Joshua Graham was sitting by the campfire, reading his Bible, when the scout came to him. Joshua enjoys reading in the coolness of the cave, listening to the Dead Horses prepare meals, make potions, build war clubs, talk, and laugh in the background. It's impossible to see his mouth beneath the white bandages the cover his head, and indeed his whole body, but Joshua can't help but smile as he reads in Angel Cave.

Joshua was the war chieftain of the Dead Horses. The tribe held him in great reverence, and deferred to him in all military matters. However, Joshua kept himself out of the Dead Horses' politics. He wanted them to live life their own way, their tribal way. Joshua understood that he was already a great influence on them. He was a great fighter and tactician, and those were skills he was willing to influence the Dead Horses with. Joshua had given the Dead Horses tactics, given them strength in battle, given them victory, and most importantly, given them a path to salvation by opening them to Jesus Christ and to God. Those were the only effects he wanted to have on the Dead Horses. Other than that, he wanted them to remain the tribe they had always been.

Because Joshua wasn't involved in the politics or personal affairs of the Dead Horses, they rarely ever spoke with him while he was reading his Bible. So Joshua was surprised when a Dead Horse came running into the cave and stopped at his side, saying "Joshua, I have news for you, something you must hear." Joshua holds up his left hand, motioning for the Dead Horse man to wait for a moment. He finishes the verse he is currently reading, makes a note of where he left off, and closes his Bible. The book is old, the cover worn from years of use, the pages beginning to yellow. Graham decides that he must start to make a new copy of his Bible, and makes a mental note to remind himself to start it later. Finally he turns to the anxious Dead Horse tribal.

The tribal is a young man, no older than eighteen. His hair is cut so short that he almost seems to be bald, a common hairstyle among the Dead Horses. His arms and his face are marked with tattoos, which represent the youth's successful hunts and battles, and the first time he killed a man in combat. One tattoo even shows that the youth is married. He wears the standard clothing of the Dead Horses, which the tribe referred to as the "stalker" outfit. A war club, the trademark weapon of the Dead Horses, hung from the youth's belt.

"Thank you for waiting so patiently. What news do you bring?" Joshua says to the Dead Horse youth. The boy responds in a rush, not pausing to breathe as he tells his tale. "I was out scouting the near the Red Sentinels, when I saw two men. One was a White Leg, but the other was not. I believe he is one of the newcomers the other scouts say came in Zion." Joshua nodded thoughtfully. Three days ago some of the Dead Horse scouts had reported seeing a group of twenty or so men coming into Zion through the Southern Passage. It was later reported that this group went to the Three Marys. At this point, contact was lost with the newcomers, since no Dead Horse would dare go into the main base of the White Legs.

"What did this stranger look like?" Joshua asks. The other scouts had never gotten close enough to give him a good description of what the newcomers looked like. All they knew was that they were not White Legs or any other tribal, and did not look like traveling merchants or scavengers. Joshua wonders if maybe these newcomers are raiders, coming to pillage the tribes of Zion. _If so, they will find that job to be harder than expected. There's a war going on, after all._

"He was wearing the strangest armor," the scout says. He tries to describe the armor to Joshua as best he can. As the boy continues to speak, Joshua grows more and more worried. _No, it can't be. Not Legionaries. A Dead Horse would recognize a man of the Legion. _Joshua is gripped by horror when he considers the scout's age. It was quite possible that he had never even seen a Legionary before. _God help us._

Joshua doesn't let his fear show, an easy feat since bandages hide is face. "Go to the Dances-With-Darkness and tell him I have new orders for him." Joshua says to the youth. Dances-With-Darkness is the head scout of the Dead Horses, and the best of them all. "Give him the description of this stranger, and tell him that I want his scouts to keep an eye out for any men that look like him. I want to know every move the newcomers make. Do you understand?" Joshua asks. The Dead Horse scout nods quickly and says "Of course, chieftain. I will do as you say." He hurries out of the cave as quickly as he can.

For a moment, Joshua stares into the campfire, thinking. He prays silently, and gains new resolve. He picks up his Bible and goes deeper into the cave, towards the large chamber that serves as the gun maintenance room. He sits down at his gun cleaning table, which is empty on the left but covered in a small pile of .45 Auto pistols on the right. He grabs a cleaning kit from beneath the table and reaches for the first pistol.

_So, you still have not forgotten me, Caesar. _Joshua pulls the slide of the pistol back before clicking the magazine release. _But then again, you never did forget me, did you? Dozens of Legion scouts and Frumentarii assassins have come looking for me. I'm sure you try to deny it, but you know I'm alive._ He drops the magazine onto the table, cleaning the pistol with a piece of cloth from the cleaning kit. _But you've never sent so many Legionaries after me at once. You've been busy with something, I suppose. Conquering the Mojave leaves little room for hunting down the Burned Man. But still you persisted, wasting your men in fruitless attempts to finish me off._ Satisfied that the pistol is clean, he puts the magazine back into the gun, releases the slide, and lays the pistol down on the left side of the table. He reaches for another one of the pistols.

_You tried to use those dogs of yours, the White Legs. But while they may be good warriors, while they may be bloodthirsty and loyal to you, and while they may be better armed since you started helping them, they are still not enough. The war in Zion has reached a stalemate. Neither the White Legs nor the Dead Horses can finish the other off._ Click. He pulls back the slide on the second pistol. Click. The magazine is released from the gun. Joshua eyes the open chamber of the pistol and begins to clean it.

_So now that your dogs have stopped giving you results, you send a few contubernia of your Legionaries, to finish me and the New Canaanites once and for all._ Joshua reloads the pistol, releases its slide, and puts it in the growing pile to his left. He reaches for a third .45 Auto pistol. _Come to me then, men of Caesar. Come to me with all your might, all your strong, all of your fervor, all of your lust for battle. I will show you why the legends still do not end. I will show you why, after all this time, the Burned Man still walks._

He drops another cleaned pistol in the pile at his left. _You want blood, Legionaries. And so you shall have it._ Reaching for another pistol, words from the Bible come to mind, and Joshua speaks them into the empty chamber, letting the words bounce off the walls. "Surely you know how it has been from of old, ever since mankind was placed on the earth, that the mirth of the wicked is brief, the joy of the godless lasts but a moment." _Come to me, Legionaries. Joshua Graham, the Malpais Legate, the Burned Man, waits for you._

Caterpillar's Mound

Near the mouth of the Narrows

Frumentarius Obscurus tears the xander roots out of the dirt on the large dirt mountain that stands tall in the Virgin River. He shoves them in a small satchel slung over one shoulder, which is already filled with various herbs, fruit, and pre-war items he has scavenged. He intends to use the xander roots and some broc flowers he found earlier to make a healing item known as bitter drink, a remedy created by the Twin Mothers tribe. Bitter drink is considerably more effective than the healing powders that most Legionaries resort to.

His companion, a White Leg scout, eyes him with apparent interest. For a tribal, this man seems to be very bright, eager to learn all the things that Obscurus can teach him. His tribe didn't know how to live off the land, not like the Legion or their rival tribes. Obscurus hopes that this scout will pass on what he has learned to the rest of his tribe. The Frumentarius would rather not have to teach every White Leg in the Three Marys. It would be much easier if some of the White Legs taught each other the "secrets" they learned from Obscurus.

The White Leg accompanying Obscurus is what the tribe considers a "light-bringer" Warriors with this title specialize in explosive weapons, and carry some form of sidearm as a backup weapon, typically a submachine gun. This scout has a bandolier filled with some scavenged frag grenades, dynamite, and fire bombs. The latter was the most common explosive weapon utilized by the White Legs. The scout's sidearm of choice is 9mm submachine gun.

Obscurus ties shut the straps on his satchel and stands. "So," he begins, pointing at the mouth of a nearby stream that leads away from the Virgin River and disappears into the mountains. "That is the Narrows?" The scout nods. "Yes, lord. Home of the Sorrows." The river streams lazily by the mound, the sunlight glinting off the green scales of the river's fish. An eagle circles in the sky, preparing to swoop down and pluck a fish from the cool water.

Obscurus grabs his firearm, a hunting rifle modified with a scope and a custom bolt to increase the weapon's rate of fire. Obscurus only carries extended magazines for the rifle, which can carry up to ten bullets, and has the gun loaded with .308 hollow point rounds. The Frumentarius had constructed a sling for the rifle when he first obtained it. The sling was made of the scaly hide of a gecko, and allowed Obscurus to carry the rifle more easily.

"How close can we probably get before the Sorrows spot us?" Obscurus asks the scout. The man shrugs and says "Close, lord. Very close." Obscurus choices to accept the answer, even though it is somewhat frustrating, and slings his rifle over one shoulder. "Then lead on, scout." The two men scamper to the bottom of the Caterpillar's Mound, their feet splashing in the water below.

They make their way across the river warily, searching the hills and the entrance of the Narrows for any signs of Sorrows. According to the White Legs, the Sorrows only use their yao guai gauntlets in combat and occasionally throwing spears. The tribe wasn't well armed, and a fight with them would be a very victory. However, Obscurus has no desire to shake a hornets' nest by getting spotted. Stealth and observation was pretty well impossible when a whole tribe was charging at you, trying to protect their home.

The Frumentarius and the White Leg make it across the river without seeing anything, human or otherwise. Looking behind them, Obscurus sees a bighorner herd far off in the distance, and what appears to be a pack of green geckos stalking the mutated bighorn sheep. Some bloatflies are flying over the river, probably attracted by the scent of the dead bighorner corpse Obscurus and the scout saw earlier. No signs of Sorrows or Dead Horses, however.

Obscurus and the scout crouch and stealthily enter the Narrows. The path proves to be narrow and twisting, forcing the two men to regularly check around corners for tribals before continuing their journey. As they continue their journey, Obscurus worries that some Sorrows tribals might turn a corner and see the Legionary and his White Leg companion. Because of the water it was difficult to be quiet, no matter how slow you walked, and the path offered little room to maneuver with any form of finesse. The two men just had to keep walking, and hope that a Sorrow didn't decide to take a little stroll or go off hunting.

Finally the path reaches its conclusion, and Obscurus stops in his tracks, halting the White Leg scout in the process. The stream has led them to a huge open space, surrounded by mountains, cliffs, and hills. Bridges made from rope and boards serve as a means to get to higher parts of the Narrows. Huts made from wood and animal hides house sleeping mats, racks of throwing spears, gecko skins that are tanning in the sunlight, and fish hanging from lines. A few small wooden tables have been set up, and are covered in plants, herbs, and uncooked bits of meat. Near the entrance of this large clearing there is a deep pool, which seems to be stocked with fish.

Obscurus watches the Sorrows from the safety off the winding pass that leads into and out of the Narrows. The tribals are wearing simple hide outfits, which provide very little covering. Many have armbands and bead necklaces, some decorated with feathers. All the Sorrows seem to have identical tattoos that start on the thigh, curve up the sides of their bodies, and end near their shoulders. The men all had their hair so short they almost appeared to be bald from this distance. The women wear their hair in exactly the same fashion. Like every tribe in Zion, the Sorrows wear no shoes.

Obscurus motions for the White Leg to follow him and lies prone in the dirt. He starts to crawl slowly into the Narrows, heading for a large bush near the entrance that will give him good cover while he spies on the Sorrows. The scout follows the Legion Frumentarius, and within thirty seconds the two are safely hidden behind the bush. Grabbing his rifle, Obscurus peers at the Sorrow through the gun's scope. Some of the tribals are armed with spears, and appear to be fishing in the pool of water the stream feeds into. Others are gathered around campfires, mixing herbs and fruits and meats to make healing remedies or meals. Obscurus sees some of the tribals building fishing spears; sharpening stones for the tips or scraping away at the wooden shaft to make it smoother.

One Sorrow in particular seems to be gathering lots of attention from his fellow tribals. He is a young, probably no older than seventeen, wearing the same clothing as the rest of his tribe and with his hair cut short just like everyone else. Tattoos marked his body the same way they marked all of his tribe mates. And yet something about this boy drew the other tribals to him. One boy was gathering the attention of dozens of Sorrows.

Looking at him through the scope on his rifle, Obscurus sees that the boy is holding something in his hands. It appears to be the paw of a yao guai, one of the mutated bears that Obscurus saw earlier today. The boy is fastening it into one of the gauntlets that serve as the signature weapon of the Sorrows. His friends and family faun around him, eagerly watching the boy make something that is clearly more to the tribe than just a weapon. This gauntlet is a symbol, a sign that this boy has become a man. In a tribal culture, such a thing has a powerful meaning. Obscurus would know, before the Legion came along, he had been a member of a tribe from Northern New Mexico.

Obscurus and the scout spent almost hour in the Narrows, watching the tribe from the safety of the bush. Finally the Frumentarius signs to the White Leg that it is time. They slowly crawl back into the twisting path from whence they came, heading out of the Narrows. The two men don't stand until they round a corner and are no longer in the line of sight of the Sorrows. Once they are out of sight, they stand and hurry down the path, back into the Canyon. A few minutes later, when a Sorrows hunting party returns from their hunt to the safety of the Narrows, there is no evidence that a Legionary and a White Leg were ever present.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 4: Shadow of Death

Zion Canyon, Utah

The Sorrow's encampment, located in the Narrows

The red orange orb of the sun begins to fall behind the horizon. The Sorrows begin to light torches and campfires in preparation of the coming nightfall. As more and more fires are lit the shadows of the Sorrows seem to dance on the walls of the Narrows. Fish, yao guai meat, bighorner steaks and gecko meat are skewered on sharp sticks and leaned over the fire. Vegetables and herb are boiled in pots to make stews. The bits of animals that cannot be eaten but are used for tribal remedies are gathered up by some of the fastest Sorrows. These individuals then race to White Bird's Cave, where the Sorrows shaman is waiting to collect these items.

Normally this scene would bring a smile to Daniel's face. Today, however, the New Canaanite missionary has other things on his mind. His thoughts are occupied by the news given to him earlier today by some Dead Horses that Joshua sent to the Narrows. The scouts reported that men from Caesar's Legion had arrived in Zion and made camp with the White Legs in the Three Marys. Joshua expressed his worry that the there was only one reason why these Legionaries would be in Zion; Caesar had ordered them to come and finish the White Legs' job. They were here to exterminate the Sorrows, Dead Horses, and any leftover New Canaanites, Joshua and Daniel included.

To protect the Sorrows, Joshua had also sent a dozen Dead Horse warriors to stay at the camp, along with the Dead Horses who were already based there. The warriors Joshua had sent were part of the warrior group with the Dead Horses known as the Disciples of New Canaan. These warriors were some of the best in the entire tribe, handpicked by Joshua Graham himself and trained in the fighting style of the New Canaanites. The Disciples are great marksman and excellent fighters, their skill with the .45 Auto pistol rivaled only by the New Canaanites.

Daniel glances at one of the camp fires, where the Disciples of New Canaan are doing maintenance work on their pistols. With the new warriors that Joshua had sent, there were now eighteen Dead Horses in the Narrows. It wouldn't be enough to deal if the White Legs attacked in force. And if the Legionaries came with them… Daniel shudders at the thought. It would be a massacre. No matter how skillful the Dead Horses were, they would not be able to stop the well armed, disciplined, skillful soldiers of the Legion. And as for the Sorrows… they would fight to defend themselves and their home, but they weren't even half as good at fighting as the average Dead Horse was. They would be slaughtered in a fight with Legionaries.

Daniel looks up at the fading light of the sun. He can't shake the feeling that this is the last sunset he will ever see. An ominous feeling has settled over Daniel's heart. In an effort to calm himself, he starts to silently recite Bible verses. _Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for though art with me._

Daniel hears footsteps coming up from behind him, the familiar sound of a woman's gait. He turns and is unsurprised to see Waking Cloud, the midwife of the Sorrows. Daniel has known her long enough to recognize her from the sound of her footsteps. He felt that he knew her as well as he knew any of his family members. _Of course, most of them are dead, so she doesn't have much to compete with._ "What troubles you, Daniel?" Waking Cloud asks. Her English is very good, even for a tribal. She was one of the smartest members of the Sorrows, and one of the most devout of the converts in the tribe. And, unfortunately, she always has Daniel dialed in. Including now.

"It's nothing, Waking Cloud, just some news from Joshua. Nothing for you to get concerned about." Daniel says dismissively. Waking Cloud steps a little closer to him, clearly unconvinced. "Nothing that concerns me, Daniel? Like the death of my husband?" _Ouch. _Daniel winces at the woman's comment. The coldness in her voice is unmistakable. She may have forgiven him for taking so long to tell her about the death of her husband, but Waking Cloud has certainly not forgotten. It may be years before he ever reconciles himself in the midwife's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I didn't mean that." Waking Cloud says, suddenly apologetic. The Sorrows are hard to anger, and they are almost as innocent as children. They can't stand the thought of hurting someone's feelings any more than they can stand the thought of hurting someone physically. "It's okay. I understand what you mean." Daniel says. _You have every right to be angry_ he thinks, hoping that Waking Cloud gets that message from his reply.

They fall into a companionable silence for a while. Waking Cloud moves a bit closer to him, standing at Daniel's right as he stares at the last bit of the sun that still peeks over the horizon. She doesn't press him to continue, just waits for him to speech his mind. When the sun is completely gone, Daniel sighs and turns to the Sorrows midwife. "You've obviously noticed the warriors that Joshua sent to us." She nods. "The whole tribe is talking about it. They don't know what it means." Daniel chuckles mirthlessly. "So they sent you to me to get some answers?" he asks. Walking Cloud shakes her head and says "No, this is just for me. I know when something worries you, Daniel, and something is eating you now."

Daniel moves away from her, sitting on a nearby log. Waking Cloud takes that as an invitation and sits down beside him. She moves gracefully, like some kind of ethereal spirit, or an angel. Daniel remains silent for about a minute, trying to think of a way to explain the news to Waking Cloud in a way that will not totally alarm her. Finally he sighs, realizing that there is no way to give her this news without worrying her, so he just decides to be straight with her.

"How much have the Dead Horses told you about Caesar and his Legion?" Daniel asks Waking Cloud. The Sorrows midwife shrugs. "A little. He was a great chieftain, lead many men. The Dead Horses say they almost joined his Legion, until Joshua showed them that the Caesar would have destroyed them." Daniel nods. "That's as good an explanation as any. Caesar has some of the best fighters in all the land. His Legionaries are brutal and disciplined. They make the best of the White Legs look like wild dogs." Waking Cloud's eyes widen. For a woman who has never had to fear any enemy greater than the White Legs, description like that is terrifying.

"The White Legs are only trying to kill the Sorrows and the Dead Horses because Caesar ordered them to. They want to join his Legion, you see, and Caesar will only let them in if they slaughter all the tribes that have come into contact with the New Canaanites." Daniel continues. "For now the White Legs have been unable to do what Caesar has ordered them to do. They are simply too evenly matched with your tribe and the Dead Horses." Daniel chooses not to mention the fact that the Dead Horses are the main reason for this. If the White Legs only had to finish off the Sorrows, they would have completed Caesar's mission years ago.

"It seems like Caesar has grown impatient with the White Legs. A few days ago some of the Dead Horses spotted a group of men entering Zion. The wear the armor of Caesar's Legion." Daniel stops and lets that sink in. Waking Cloud stares at him, astonished. "How many of them are there?" she asks. "Only a little more than twenty, but with the Legion that is more than enough." Daniel replies. Waking Cloud mutters something under her breath in the language of the Sorrows. Daniel doesn't know what those particular words mean, but he imagines that their meaning isn't anything pleasant.

"This doesn't answer my question, Daniel." Waking Cloud says, looking into his eyes. "Why are you so worried?" The New Canaanite looks away. "I don't know, Waking Cloud. I just feel… I'm afraid that they are coming for the Sorrows. I fear that this is our last night." Waking Cloud is silent for a moment. Then she walks around the log so she is facing him again. "You worry too much, Daniel. I should be more afraid then you. Don't your teachings say that the Life to Come will be much better than the Life We Are In?" She cocks her head and looks at him quizzically. Daniel nods and says "Yes, they do, but although I am faithful, I still fear death. I can't explain it, Waking Cloud. Maybe it's just part of being human."

The Sorrows midwife smiles at him. "Have faith in the Father, Daniel. If he has decided it is time for you to go, it isn't your place to argue against his will, is it?" Despite himself, Daniel smiles at her. "You're right, it's not. You seem to be more faithful then me, Waking Cloud. Maybe you should minister to your tribe instead of me." To his surprise, Waking Cloud leans forward and kisses him on the forehead, like a little girl kissing her father. "I wouldn't do it nearly as good as you, Daniel." With that, the Sorrows midwife walks away, disappearing into the Narrows, leaving Daniel staring after her with a look of astonishment still etched on his face.

Three hours later

In the cliffs surrounding the Narrows

Aside from a few of the Dead Horses and some of the Sorrows hunters, the camp below is completely asleep. Sicarius watches silently from the cliffs above the Narrows, using a pair of high powered night vision goggles to scan the camp. Brutus sits behind him, along with six other Legionaries and two White Legs. One of the White Legs is a pain-maker, carrying a sledgehammer and a bandolier of tomahawks. The other is one of the most feared of the White Leg warriors, a storm-drummer. He is armed with the signature weapon of the White Legs; the "storm drum", a .45 Auto submachine gun.

Four of the Legionaries with Brutus were Veteran Legionaries, while the other two were Frumentarii. One of them was Cato Hostilius, the Frumentarius who aided Sicarius in the assassination of President Kimball, and the other was a Frumentarius named Claudius. The two Frumentarii were armed with .308 caliber semi-automatic sniper rifles. Thanks to the Legion's seizure of the Gun Runners' factory, the rifles had several modifications. Each had a suppressor screwed onto the end of the rifle's barrel, and each had been made out of incredibly lightweight carbon fiber parts. The Frumentarii were using .308 hollow point rounds, allowing them to do even greater damage to the unarmored tribals they will soon be fighting.

The Veterans were carrying silenced 12.7mm submachine guns, loaded with 12.7mm JHP rounds. Brutus was carrying a riot shotgun loaded with 12 gauge slugs and a silenced 10mm pistol. Sicarius has his modified brush gun slung over his shoulder, but also carries a 12.7mm pistol with an attached suppressor. All of these firearms are in addition to the machete gladius that each Legionary carried, along with assorted throwing knives, throwing hatches, explosives, and the White Legs' tomahawks.

Sicarius shoves the binoculars into his belt. He has four other groups stationed in various places around the Narrows, and by now they should all be ready to go, since they have been sitting in these cliffs since before the late afternoon. He turns to the Legionaries and the two White Legs and says "Now it begins." Brutus and the other Legionaries are silent, but Sicarius knows that they are all eager to get moving. The two White Legs don't hide their hunger for violence, however, and their eyes gleam wickedly in the darkness.

The group starts walking along the cliff edge, jumping over cracks and climbing up large boulders where it's necessary. The White Legs lead the group, as they know the place where the cliffs can be scaled. Apparently the White Legs had sent warriors to spy on and pester the Sorrows innumerable times, using spots in the cliffs they had found that allowed them to enter cave systems that lead into the Narrows. With these caves, Sicarius and his Legionaries would sneak into the Sorrows encampment. The majority of the White Legs and Legionaries present for this battle were positioned at the mouth of the Narrows. Once the battle started, they would charge in and slaughter the Sorrows.

Sicarius has chosen to attack the weaker of the two tribes first. This mystified Salt-Upon-Wounds, but the Legionaries understood perfectly what Sicarius intended to do. By slaughtering the Sorrows, the Legionaries would break the spirit of the Dead Horses. Once the tribals saw what the Legionaries would do to them, they would lose their resolve. It wouldn't stop them from fighting, of course, but it did serve a purpose. If they lost their willpower, they would make mistakes, be less attentive, and they would be perpetually afraid of a Legion attack. The Burned Man would have a harder time leading them, and his warriors would be much more likely to surrender if they saw what the Legion did to those who stood in its way.

The White Legs stopped upon reaching a section of the cliff that was almost perfectly vertical, but had numerous foot and hand holds. They started climbing down the cliff face, and Sicarius and the other Legionaries followed close behind. After about eight minutes of climbing, the White Legs hopped onto a ledge that hugged the cliff face very close to where they were climbing. Sicarius and the Legionaries follow suit, landing right beside the two tribals with ease. The group stealthily creeps along the narrow ledge, careful to keep their balance. The White Legs lead them along the ledge until they reach the entrance of a cave. The group descends into the black maw of the cave, coming ever closer to the camp below.

Even when their eyes become used to the dark, the going is still slow in the dark, damp cave. Glowing mushrooms light the way in some places, while other stretches of the cave are left in complete darkness. Sometimes the scuttling of some cave insect can be heard, but nothing attacks Sicarius or the group he leads.

Sicarius stops at the end of the tunnel, when they reach the mouth of the cave. In front of them is a bridge that scales the gorge from this cave to a ledge on the other side of the Narrows. A path leads down from the cave mouth into the Sorrows camp below. "We wait here," Sicarius says to his Legionaries and the two White Legs. "Give the others time to get into position." Brutus nods, and the group crouches in the darkness of the cave, waiting for the order to move on.

From the mouth of the cave, Sicarius looks down at the camp below. A large group of tents, many filled with sleeping Sorrows, four large campfires, and a shack were meat, fish, and vegetables are stored or hung from hooks for tomorrow's breakfast. _But you won't be having breakfast, Sorrows. Not if I can help it. _Sicarius grins, ready to start some actual combat. He moves back into the darkness of the cave with the rest of his men. Soon, the battle of the Narrows will begin. The sun will come over a new day, with one less tribe in Zion.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 5: Blood is spilled

Zion Canyon, Utah

The Narrows

Sometime after midnight

Sicarius listens to the sound of some Sorrows breathing peacefully in the hut behind him, sound asleep. He has his back against the wooden hut wall, shielding him from the light of the one large campfire that the Sorrows keep going all night long. He can see the shadows of two Dead Horses who are wondering around the camp, keeping guard over the sleeping Sorrows.

Looking up, Sicarius can see the bridge above him that spans the Narrows. All six of his best sharpshooters, a mixture of Veteran Legionaries and Frumentarii, are posted on that bridge, sniper rifles trained on the camp below. Sicarius, along with some other Frumentarii and Veteran Legionaries, have snuck into the Sorrows camp. Everyone is in place, ready to begin the assault on the Narrows. Sicarius grips his silenced 12.7mm pistol in a tight two handed grip. He breathes slowly, calming his nerves. Every Legionary is waiting for his signal to strike. He must remain calm.

Sicarius raises one hand in a signal to the snipers. He hears a soft phttt noise as all six sharpshooters fire their suppressed sniper rifles simultaneously. Each sniper is targeting a Dead Horse guard in a different part of the camp. Sicarius watches as the shadows of the two Dead Horses nearest to him suddenly collapse to the ground. The fire hisses, as though bits of skull and flesh have just landed in the fire. Sicarius hears a few more volleys of suppressed rifle shots. Then there is silence. As of now, every Dead Horse who was on guard duty is now dead. The camp is now filled with sleeping tribals, unaware of the threat looming over them.

To the right of the Sicarius lies another Sorrows hut. Brutus is using that hut as cover, and Sicarius manages to catch his eye. He holds up his pistol and makes an imaginary circle in the air with one finger. Brutus gets the message and nods in response, gripping his riot shotgun tightly. Sicarius counts to three and then nods at his subordinate. The two men jump out of their crouched positions and circle around to the front of their respective hut simultaneously. Sicarius and Brutus stop at the same time, standing directly in front of the hut's entrance.

The fire behind Sicarius causes his shadow to fall over the interior of the hut. Inside he sees a group of six Sorrows, men and women, sleeping soundly. Out of the corners of his eyes Sicarius is aware that all of the Legionaries who snuck into camp with him have followed his lead. Each man is now standing in the entranceway of the hut he was previously hiding behind. They all raise their weapons, readying themselves to fire, waiting for Sicarius to fire the first shot.

Sicarius bends his knees and brings up his pistol in an experienced shooter's stance. He stares down the sights of his 12.7mm pistol at the head of the closest sleeping tribal, a man no older than thirty. His finger enters the trigger guard and gently squeezes the trigger. The pistol bucks slightly in his hand as the first bullet is fired. The 12.7mm jacketed hollow point round rips through the sleeping tribal's head, continues through the sleeping mat, and buries itself in the dirt.

Sicarius brings his pistol to bear on the second sleeping tribal. Phtt. The third. Phtt. The fourth. Phtt. He hears bursts of cough-like fire from the other huts as his Legionaries empty their suppressed 12.7mm submachine guns into the sleeping Sorrows. Sicarius shoots the final two tribals and then pauses, waiting for the other Legionaries to stop shooting.

The Sorrows camp is suddenly silent again. Sicarius hits the slide release on his pistol, dropping the almost empty magazine and replacing it with a fresh one. He hears similar clicks from his Legionaries as everyone reloads their firearms. Sicarius glances around the camp. All of his men, including Brutus, are ready and waiting for their next order. Sicarius listens carefully but hears no sounds from the other sleeping tribals. _Their all still sleeping. Good, makes things that much easier._

Sicarius gestures for all of his Legionaries to choose another hut and crouch behind it. Again the Legionaries move into positions, slightly crouched, backs against the wall of the hut, waiting for Sicarius to order them to move. Sicarius waits three seconds before giving the signal to move. The Legionaries all use the same tactic as the first time. Run around the corner of the hut, circle to the hut entrance, pick the first target, raise your gun, and fire. When it's over, another group of huts have been cleared of Sorrows.

Sicarius reloads his pistol and gestures for his Legionaries to duck behind another hut in preparation for the next attack. As the group moves into position, Sicarius sees movement in the corner of his eyes. A Sorrows tribal, a woman, walks out of one of the huts. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees the Legionaries. Sicarius starts to bring his pistol to bear on the Sorrow, already knowing that he will not be able to shoot the woman in time.The tribal opens her mouth and shrieks like a banshee.

The 12.7mm bullet that Sicarius fires slams into the tribal's skull a moment too soon. As the dead tribal crumples to the ground, shouts come from the other huts as Sorrows react to the scream. Sicarius glances over at Brutus and locks eyes with him. A message seems to pass between the two men. The Frumentarius holsters his pistol and grabs his brush gun, while Brutus grabs his riot shotgun. When the first tribal to respond to the scream exits his hut, a 12 gauge shotgun slug hits him in the chest. The load blast ensures that every tribal in the camp is now wide awake. The stealth aspect of this assault is over.

Sicarius raises his rifle to his shoulder, firing at the first sleepy Sorrows tribal who enters his view. Adrenaline floods his veins, and he finds he suddenly feels exhilarated. Leading the Legionaries in a stealth mission was stressful. Now that the real attack had begun, he could let them do what Legionaries do best: destroying their enemies. Sicarius works the lever action, readying another bullet.

With the sounds of gunfire going off, the Veterans and the White Legs stationed at the entrance of the Narrows will have been alerted. Even now they are charging down the winding path that leads into the Narrows. For now, Sicarius and his small force have the advantage that the Sorrows aren't organized yet. By the time a leader has stepped up and they begin to defend themselves, the White Legs and the rest of the Legionaries will be upon them. This wouldn't be a battle; this was going to be a slaughter.

The Upper Narrows

Half Mouse Cave

Daniel sits on his bedroll, cleaning his .45 Auto submachine gun. He decided he might as well do some weapon maintenance, considering the fact that he was too restless to sleep. _Might as well do something productive. _Daniel was very good at cleaning and repairing firearms, as were all New Canaanites. Earlier that night he cleaned his sidearm. Learning how to effectively use a .45 Auto pistol is a New Canaanite rite of passage. While the Mormon missionaries tended to be peaceful, they were exceptional marksmen, especially with their trademark sidearms. While Daniel always carries his pistol, like any self-respecting New Canaanite, he tends to use his .45 Auto submachine gun in combat. Because of this, he wasn't nearly as good with his pistol as Joshua Graham was.

Waking Cloud watches Daniel from her sleeping mat, lying on her side. Daniel doesn't know if she was always awake or if the noise of him cleaning his gun has woken her. "Are you even going to try to sleep?" Daniel asks, his voice quiet. Waking Cloud smiles at him, causing her teeth to sparkle in the light of torches that are spread throughout the cave.

The Mormon missionary shakes his head, smiling despite himself. "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you up," he says, keeping his voice at a whisper so that he doesn't wake anyone else in the cave. "I just can't seem to sleep. Need something to occupy my time with." Deciding that his gun is clean enough, Daniel starts to reassemble the submachine gun.

"The news still bothers you?" Waking Cloud asks after a moment. Daniel sighs and nods. The Sorrows midwife gets up from her sleeping mat and strolls over to him. She sits down beside him, watching him reassemble the submachine gun with interest. "You New Canaanites are very good at that." she says. Daniel chuckles. "Of course we are; it's part of our rite of passage."

Waking Cloud's eyes widen. "New Canaanites have rites of passage? Like the Sorrows?" she asks, seeming to be incredibly surprised. Daniel nods, continuing to assemble the gun. "When the city of New Canaan was first established, it was decided that anyone who joined our group, either by birth or by choice, had to be trained in certain ways, in order to ensure that they would be effective citizens. Self-defense, marksmanship, and weapon maintenance were three of the main components of the New Canaanite rite of passage."

With the firearm fully assembled, Daniel loads a magazine into the gun. He keeps the safety on, but chambers the first bullet anyway, just in case he needs it in a hurry. Laying the gun beside his sleeping mat, Daniel returns his attention to Waking Cloud. "If you insist on staying up, you might as well read scripture with me." The Sorrows midwife smiles at him. "I would like that very much." Daniel reaches into his duffel bag for his Bible.

Waking Cloud suddenly stiffens. "Did you hear that?" Daniel stops moving and listens. He hears faint booming noises, definitely from somewhere outside of the cave. "What is that?" Waking Cloud asks. Her tone implies that she knows what the noises are, but is hoping that Daniel will tell her it is something else. "It sounds like… gunfire." Daniel says. He continues to listen, picking out some sounds as rifle shot and others as shotgun blasts. Worst of all is the staccato firing of .45 Auto submachine guns, a sure sign that White Legs are nearby. "God help us," Daniel murmurs under his breath.

Around the cave, other Sorrows are beginning to wake from their sleep. Daniel notices to his horror that the sound of gunfire is getting even louder. He jumps up and grabs his submachine gun. "Up! Up! Everybody up!" Daniel yells, loud enough to wake the dead. The Sorrows jump to their feet, many of them rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

A few Disciples of New Canaan are sleeping nearby, and they respond the fastest to Daniel's shouts. "Daniel, what is happening?" the lead Dead Horse asks. "We're under attack." Daniel replies. He points at one of the Disciples and says "Get everyone up here awake and armed, and then send them down to help us repel the attack. The rest of you, with me." The selected tribal runs around the cave, waking up the Sorrows, yelling at them to arm themselves, and filling them in one what is going on. The rest of the Disciples follow Daniel as he runs from the cave, submachine gun in hand.

Daniel and the Dead Horses race down the path that leads from Half Mouse Cave to the camp at the entrance of the Narrows. The closer they get to the Sorrows camp, the louder the gunfire and screams become. _White Legs. It has to be White Legs. But they've never attacked us this directly before, why would they mount an assault like this? _A chilling thought enters Daniel's mind. _The Legion. They ordered this attack._

Daniel and the Dead Horses run through a waterfall, refusing to take the extra time to run around it. When they come out on the other side, all of the men are drenched. Daniel hardly notices. All he can think about is the White Legs and the Legionaries ravaging the Sorrows. The screams remind him of the night when the White Legs attacked New Canaan, killing woman and children in their sleep, burning down buildings with people still inside. His fear turns to fury. _I will not allow this. I'll kill every one of these godless beasts before I let them slaughter the Sorrows like they did the New Canaanites. I will not let the White Legs kill this tribe like they did the other tribes of Zion. The Sorrows will not suffer the fate of the Tar Walkers, or the Crazy horns, or the New Canaanites. I will __**not**__ allow it._

Daniel clicks the safety off of his submachine gun. "Arm yourselves!" he growls at the Disciples of New Canaan. They stare at him as though they don't even know who he is. They've never seen Daniel become so angry, so savage. But they do as he says, pulling their .45 Auto pistols out of the holsters on their hide belts. Each tribal clicks the safety off of his pistol. Determined looks pass between the tribals and the New Canaanite missionary as they continue to run down the path. They are ready to fight.

Daniel turns the corner of the path and finds himself staring at the Sorrows camp. The scene before him nearly makes him stop dead in his tracks. Half of the huts are on fire, clear evidence that the White Legs have brought their fire bombs on this assault. The flames shoot high into the air, lighting up the brutal fight taking place in the Sorrows camp. Shadows dance on the walls of the Narrows.

Dozens of bodies litter the ground, blood pouring into the dirt and into the stream. Most of the corpses belong to Sorrows, although some are Dead Horses and a few are White Legs.

Dozens of White Legs have flooded the camp, using a variety of firearms, explosives, melee and unarmed weapons. The surviving Sorrows fight back, using their yao guai fists and throwing spears. The few living Dead Horse in the camp are using their trademark war clubs, as none of the Disciples of New Canaan were put on guard duty; a grave mistake that Daniel had never realized until now.

The White Legs fight with savage ferocity, jaws set in predatory grins, eyes gleaming with blood lust. The Sorrows fight back in self-defense, but it is a losing fight. They are a tribe of hunters, not warriors, and they have never been through an attack of this scale and ferocity. On the other hand, the Dead Horses are a tribe of militant warriors. They fight with ferocity, charging into battle to crack open the skulls of White Legs with their war clubs.

Daniel hears the Disciples of New Canaan scream in fury before they charge into the battle. The New Canaanite follows close behind them, running as fast as he can towards the battle taking place before him. As they near the battle the Disciples and Daniel split up, each man running to a different part of the battle.

Daniel runs around a hut, finding himself standing in the way of six unarmed Sorrows who are running for the safety of the deeper parts of the Narrows. Behind them is a trio of White Legs; one carrying a machete, another a fire axe, and the last one a mantis gauntlet.

Daniel jumps nimbly to the side, allowing the fleeing Sorrows to get by him. The White Legs change course, running towards the New Canaanite missionary, eyes gleaming with hate and savage glee. Daniel calmly raises his submachine gun, jamming the butt of the firearm into his shoulder. His finger slips easily into the trigger guard. He picks his first target and squeezes the trigger.

A three round burst of .45 Auto fire hits the targeted White Leg in the chest. The man drops his machete and collapses into the dirt, moaning in pain. Daniel adjusts his aim, firing two bullets into the throat of the second White Leg. Fear begins to register in the last White Leg's eyes, and he starts to turn, trying to dodge the next burst of gunfire. Daniel doesn't even pause, shooting the tribal in the torso with four .45 Auto bullets. The man screams and falls to the ground.

Daniel sees movement in the corner of his eyes and barely has time to duck to the side before a tomahawk embeds itself in the wall of a hut after barely missing his head. He pivots on his heels, gun raised, and fires a line of hot lead into the stomach of the White Leg who threw the makeshift weapon at him. The tribal grabs the gaping holes that have just appeared in his abdomen, grunts in pain, and collapses, blood pouring out of his wounds.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur to Daniel, a blur of fire bombs, flashing blades, gunfire, screams, blood, and shouts. The only times he ever pauses his shooting is when he has to reload or when he has to dodge a melee strike or a tomahawk. Sorrows and Dead Horses from Half Mouse Cave rush to the battle and join in, evening out the battle. The two sides fight back and forth, losing ground and gaining ground in the blink of an eye. While there are plenty of White Legs in the battle, Daniel sees no Legionaries. The New Canaanite is so concentrated on the battle that he doesn't notice the complete lack of Legion men.

After fifteen minutes of brutal fighting, the entire camp is one fire. Not a single hut is still standing. Bodies litter the ground and the dirt is slick with blood. The nearby stream is slowly turning red as blood leaks into it. The moans of fatally wounded Dead Horses, Sorrows, and White Legs fill the air, mixing with the bloodthirsty shouts of the White Leg marauders, the righteous yells of the Dead Horses, and the screams of fear from the Sorrows.

Suddenly there is a lull in the combat. The White Legs retreat to the edge of the camp, readying themselves to attack again. Daniel takes this chance to gather together the Sorrows and the Dead Horses. Daniel orders any tribals who are not armed to gather the injured Sorrows and Dead Horses and bring them to White Bird's cave. Then the shaman can give the injured defenders whatever help they need. Daniel, the eight surviving Disciples of New Canaan, the other Dead Horse warriors, and the Sorrows hunters will get ready to defend the Narrows against another White Leg assault.

Daniel gets the tribals ready for another round of fighting. He puts the Sorrows with throwing spears in the back of the group, while the Dead Horses with clubs and the Sorrows with yao guai fists stand at the front, ready to be the first into battle. Daniel and the Disciples space themselves out among the lines of defenders, ensuring that there aren't any blind spots in the forces. _Now all there's left to do is wait _Daniel thinks grimly, submachine gun ready in his hands.

The minutes slowly crawl by, but the White Legs do not launch another attack. They gather in the darkness beyond the camp, far enough away that the light of the fires do not reveal their forms. The only sign that the White Legs are still there at all is their constant restless movement. Every few minutes some White Legs will come into view, only to retreat back into the darkness. _Like wild dogs, gauging the defenses of their prey before coming in for the kill._

Suddenly a shout pierces the tension in the air, the angry yell of a White Leg. Dozens of the attackers pour in from the darkness, rushing into the burning remains of the camp. Daniel yells at the Sorrows and Dead Horses to attack, and the two sides rush into the camp, ready to fight to the death.

The fight is brutal; spears and fire bombs flying through the air, gunshots roaring, bones cracking, blood pouring into the dirt. Only after Daniel is knee deep in the battle, firing off his submachine gun at the White Legs, does he notice that something is wrong. The majority of the White Leg forces are not present. Looking into the darkness beyond, Daniel sees no sign that more warriors are lying in wait. _Did they retreat? _Daniel wonders in disbelief. _Why would they do that?_ Looking over the attacking White Legs, Daniel notices something else. _All of these White Legs are already injured. Some of them can hardly run! Why did they only send their weakest, most injured warriors? _The missionary is unable to think of a logical explanation, but he finds that his blood has run cold.

Within three minutes of the battle starting, the White Legs retreat. This time the retreat is not orderly or disciplined. The White Legs scream in fear, shouting at their fellows to run for their lives. Weapons are dropped into the dirt carelessly, and they warriors suddenly turn tail and flee into the darkness. Daniel watches the terrified stampede in disbelief. _We did it! I can't believe it! We won!_ The Sorrows and Dead Horses shout in triumph.

Suddenly a new shout pierces the triumphant yells. The words are not in English, they are in the language of the Dead Horses, and it takes Daniel a moment to realize what they mean. "Chase them! Do not let them escape! They will return to kill us again! Hunt them down!"

Before Daniel can react, all hell breaks loose among the defending tribals. The Dead Horses, including the Disciples of New Canaan, and the Sorrows break formation and start to run after the retreating White Legs. Daniel slings his submachine gun and holds up his hands, yelling at the tribals to stop, to come back. A few of the Sorrows listen to him, including Waking Cloud, but the majority of the Sorrows hunters follow the Dead Horses and disappear into the darkness.

The few defenders who stayed behind, less than a dozen tribals and Daniel, begin to search the camp for injured Dead Horses and Sorrows. "Daniel!" Waking Cloud calls out. The New Canaanite missionary rushes to where she stands beside the burning remains of one of the huts. "What's wrong?" he asks, suddenly out of breath. The adrenaline is slowly wearing off, and he finds that his thoughts are suddenly very cloudy. Waking Cloud points at the injured Sorrows man at her feet. "His legs are broken. Will you help me carry him to the cave?" Daniel nods and helps her pick up the injured tribal, who moans quietly but doesn't speak. They start to climb up the hill deeper into the Narrows, heading for White Bird's cave.

They have barely started moving when a series of loud booms echo off the walls of the Narrows. The ground shudders as though Zion is going through an earthquake. Somehow Daniel knows that the cause of the booms is something more sinister than a natural disaster. His heart leaps into his chest, but he keeps heading towards the cave.

The booms stop, and for a moment there is silence. Then a heart stopping sound fills the air, the sound of a rock slide, an avalanche of stone falling into the Narrows. The ground shakes so hard that Waking Cloud stumbles, dropping the injured man onto the ground. The man moans loudly but is completely drowned out by the bestial roar of falling stone.

Some Sorrows are coming down the hill, heading back to the camp to see if they can help any more injured tribals. They stop dead in their tracks at the sound of the rock avalanche. "Daniel?" Waking Cloud murmurs when the noise dies down. "What was that?" The missionary doesn't even look at her. He points at the one of the other Sorrows and says "Help Waking Cloud get this man to White Bird!" The tribal immediately rushes to the midwife's side. "Daniel?" she asks again, but her plea falls on deaf ears. "The rest of you, head down to the camp. There are still more injured who need help." Daniel says to the Sorrows. Then he turns and rushes back down the hill, heading for the location of the rock slide. His heart thumps so hard it feels as though it's going to punch through his chest.

He stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the location of the avalanche. Tons of red rock and dirt have filled a large section of the Narrows, blocking his way. Dust fills the air, forming a reddish-brown cloud that hangs ominously above and before Daniel. Tears along the sides of the cliffs make it painfully clear that the tons and tons of rock before him were exploded off of the side of the Narrows itself. Daniel sees no sign of the Dead Horses and Sorrows who chased after the retreating White Legs.

Daniel stares at the imposing pile of rock, stone, and dirt. He remembers the triumphant yells of the Dead Horses and the Sorrows. He remembers their shouts as they began to chase the retreating White Legs. The New Canaanite missionary looks at the dirt beneath his feet, refusing to look at the image of destruction before him. _I wasn't able to stop them. I wasn't able to save them._ He shakes his head and turns around, running back to the flaming ruins of the camp. For now, the living demand his attention. He can mourn for the dead later.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 6: Bringers of Sorrow

Zion Canyon, Utah

Angel Cave, located in the Dead Horses Camp

Joshua Graham looks over his body, satisfied that he has wrapped his burned flesh well. Every day the New Canaanite replaces his bandages with new ones, in order to avoid infection. Doing so makes him feel like he is being burned all over again, but Joshua has learned to deal with this burden.

He has just finished pulling on his clothes and his Salt Lake City Police Department SWAT ballistic vest when a Dead Horse rushes into the room. Joshua immediately recognizes the tribal as Follows-Chalk, one of the junior scouts of the Dead Horses. "Joshua, you must come with me. There is something you must see." the scout says in a rush. His eyes flash with fear and worry.

"What's wrong, Follows-Chalk?" Joshua asks, grabbing A Light Shinning in Darkness, his unique .45 Auto pistol, and holstering it. Follows-Chalk shakes his head and says "There is no time to explain. We must go!" Something in the young man's voice says that he could explain, that time is not the issue. Clearly whatever he has to show Joshua as the Dead Horse spooked. _White Leg raiders? Yao Guai?_ Joshua dismisses both of those options, as Follows-Chalk has never shown any sign of fearing beasts or White Legs.

"No time to waste, then. Lead on." Joshua says. Follows-Chalk nods and hurries towards the entrance of the cave, while Joshua follows close behind. Exiting the cave, Joshua notices that the Dead Horses are all gathered together, talking together in their own language. They are talking quickly, and Joshua doesn't have the time to decipher what they're saying and translate it, but he can tell that something has them all terrified.

Follows-Chalk leads Joshua away from the Dead Horses camp and down the banks of the stream that feeds into the Virgin River. Along the way they step carefully around the bear traps that the Dead Horses have set up to deter the White Legs. The scout starts to slow down as they come near the mouth of the stream, as though trying to prolong the time until he has to see whatever waits for them there. _What could possibly be the matter? _Joshua wonders. _What has the Dead Horses so terrified?_ As they round the bend and reach the mouth of the stream, Joshua finds the answer to his question.

Three wooden crosses, made out of the beams of old pre-war cabins found throughout Zion, have been set in the mud at the mouth of the stream. Railway spikes and metal wire keep the pieces of each cross together. Joshua comes to a dead stop when his eyes register the fact that there are people on the crosses. Fury builds up within his chest. _What have the White Legs done?_

One the cross on the left a Sorrows tribal hangs. His limbs and torso have multiple lacerations on them, and the man's blood flows into the water below. Metal wire keeps his feet tied to the post, and similar wires keep his wrists tight against the cross. On the right cross hangs a Dead Horse tribal. He is cut up and hanging in the same way as the Sorrows tribal. Their heads are leaning forward as though in prayer. Joshua was the Legate of Caesar once, and he remembers ordering the crucifixion of hundreds of people. He knows just by looking at them that the two tribals are dead, probably having hung bleeding from those crosses for at least two hours, maybe more.

Joshua stares at the occupant of the center cross. This man is not a tribal. He is wearing a worn out pair of jeans, which have numerous spots were they were patched or where cuts were sewn shut. His button-down shirt is black flannel with white trim squares, and his sleeves have been rolled up. The buttons on the shirt have been undone, and blood trickles from various wounds the man's chest. While the man seems to have lost a good amount of blood, he doesn't seem to be dead. His wounds aren't nearly as bad as the two tribals who are on crosses beside him. The man's head is hung low, and Joshua can see that he has short black hair. _No, no, it can't be._ Joshua steps closer to the cross, looking up into the man's face. His breath catches in his throat.

Hanging by his wrists from the cross, looking down at Joshua with a distant look in his eyes, is the New Canaanite missionary, Daniel.

Follows-Chalk and some other Dead Horses watch Joshua, terror in their eyes. He turns to them and says "Daniel is still alive. Quick, we must get him down from there!" He points at the cross and says "Grab it, pull it out of the mud, and lay it on the riverbank." The Dead Horses stare at him for a moment. "Now! We must act now, or he will die!" Those words spurn the Dead Horses into action.

Joshua aids the Dead Horses in pulling down the cross and then carrying it out of the water and over to a patch of dirt. Once the cross is gently placed in the dirt, Joshua hurried to Daniel's side and starts to undo the wire tied around his right wrist. "Follows-Chalk, untie the other wrist!" Joshua says, and the scout rushes to the other side of the cross. Another Dead Horse begins to untie the wire around Daniel's ankles. Within a few seconds they have the missionary free.

"Daniel, can you hear me? It's me, Joshua. Can you hear me?" Daniel's cloudy eyes slowly start to clear of fog, and he focus on Joshua. "Yes, I can hear you. Joshua… the White Legs… the Legion, they…" Daniel stops talking and begins to cough. Blood dribbles down his chin after his coughing subsides.

Joshua looks at Follows-Chalk and says "Grab his left arm. We're going to have to carry him back to camp." Looking down at Daniel he asks "Can you walk, Daniel?" The missionary nods after a short pause. Joshua grabs him by one shoulder and starts to haul him to his feet. The New Canaanite moans, but he manages to get onto his feet. Joshua wraps one of Daniel's arms around his shoulder, and Follows-Chalk does the same. They start to lead Daniel down the stream, back towards the Dead Horses camp.

Suddenly, one of the other Dead Horses calls out to Joshua. "What about the other two?" he asks. Joshua doesn't even bother to turn around, too busy with half leading, half carrying Daniel to camp. He quotes the Bible in response to the tribal man's question. "'Let the dead bury their own dead.'" he says, voice calm but commanding. The Dead Horses look at each other, glance at the dead bodies on the crosses, and quickly run after Joshua, Daniel, and Follows-Chalk.

Angel Cave

One hour later

The Dead Horses shaman sighs and shakes his head. "I am sorry, Joshua," he says to the war chieftain. "There is nothing more I can do." Joshua looks down at Daniel and says "It will have to do. How long does he have?" The shaman looks up at him, sadness in his eyes. "Minutes." he says simply. "Maybe twenty, maybe less." Joshua nods and says "I thank you for your help, Shaman. Please leave me to Daniel." The shaman inclines his head and leaves.

Joshua returns his attention to Daniel. The shaman took away the man's shirt, in order to apply ointments and herbal remedies to his wounds, as well as to wrap them in bandages. The bandages have already turned reddish-pink with blood. Daniel's wrists are also bandaged, as the metal wires that kept him on the cross bit hard into his skin. Daniel's breath is ragged, and every few minutes he starts coughing up blood. Due to loss of circulation, Daniel is having difficulty using his hands and moving his feet. His eyes still look cloudy, life no longer shining in them as brightly as it once had.

Joshua kneels in the dirt beside Daniel. "I know it may be difficult for you. You're dying, and you've lost most of your strength. But please, Daniel, tell me everything that happened. I need to… the Dead Horses and the other New Canaanites need to know." Daniel turns his cloudy gaze to Joshua's face. "I know that, Joshua. I just need to reign in my thoughts. The memories are still so… vivid, and terrifying. And the loss of blood, it's making it hard to focus." Joshua nods and says, gently, like a father to a wounded son, "I understand, Daniel. When you are ready, you may begin."

For almost a minute, Daniel doesn't speak. The missionary just stares up at the cave ceiling with that clouded gaze. Joshua begins to worry that Daniel is already in his final moments, when the man sighs sorrowfully. "Okay, Joshua," Daniel says, still staring at the wall. "I'm ready." He begins to tell his story.

The Narrows

Sicarius looks down into the Narrows, watching as the Sorrows and Dead Horses chase after the retreating White Legs. "So this is what it feels like to be a spider," Sicarius says to Brutus. The Decanus nods. "Indeed. I must congratulate you, Frumentarius. This was an excellent plan. Even Vulpes would have been impressed, I think." Sicarius shakes his head but smiles slightly, pleased by the compliment. "Vulpes is a far better Frumentarius then I, Brutus. I imagine he would think of something quite a bit more… creative then this."

Originally Sicarius had intended to defeat the Sorrows in a straight up fight. Once his men had been spotted he had pulled back his Legionaries and sent the White Legs into the Sorrows camp. It had quickly become apparent that the Sorrows and the Dead Horses in the camp had a home field advantage in the Narrows. With that in mind, Sicarius had gone with Plan B.

He had pulled back the majority of the White Legs, ordering the healthiest ones to retreat to the very entrance of the Narrows. The weak, injured, or otherwise expendable had stayed at the Sorrows camp and continued the battle. Sicarius had then set up a trap, one that was eerily similar to the one employed by the NCR during the First Battle for Hoover Dam. He had mined a stretch of the Narrows' walls with C4 plastic explosive. The plan was simple: have the expandable White Legs attack the Sorrows and Dead Horses for a minute or so, and then drop their weapons and retreat. The assumption was that the tribals would follow the seemingly fearful White Legs to finish them off. Once the tribals passed through the mined stretch, Sicarius would remotely detonate the C4, exploding or burying all of the Sorrows and Dead Horses.

Once the C4 had been set up, the Legionaries had used one of the many bridges located throughout the Narrows and creep deeper into the Sorrows territory. They have been watching the battle from this cliff, waiting for the tribals to stumble into their trap. The strongest, healthiest White Legs had been stationed at the very entrance of the Narrows, near the Caterpillar's Mound. Once the C4 went off, they would swarm back into the Narrows and help the Legionaries finish off the Sorrows tribe. _And then our job will be half over_ Sicarius muses.

Sicarius holds the detonator in one hand, finger rest on the red trigger as he waits for the tribals to reach the detonation zone. The White Legs continue to pretend that they are running scared, and the Sorrows and Dead Horses are eating it up. Sicarius shakes his head and chuckles. _This is almost too easy. _

The Frumentarius raises the detonator and says "Prepare yourselves, Legionaries." Sicarius pulls the trigger and the Legionaries all lean forward. For a few seconds nothing happens. Sicarius glances at the detonator and moves it slightly, wondering if there is a problem with the signal.

Suddenly the walls of the Narrows explode. Flashes of light burn alongside the cliff walls, going off like miniature bombs. For a moment the only debris is a few boulders and bits of rocks. The Sorrows and Dead Horses, most of whom were not injured by the C4 explosions, stop dead in their tracks and look around wildly, trying to figure out what is going on. Then gravity takes control, and the weakened walls of the Narrows fall downwards. Tons and tons of rocks and boulders come crashing down into the Narrows. Sorrows and Dead Horses try to run, only now aware of the trap they have stumbled into, but it is too late. Rocks, dirt, and boulders rain down from above, burying every one of the tribals.

The Legionaries all glance at Sicarius and nod approvingly. Evidently they all share the feelings of their Decanus, Brutus. Sicarius returns their nod and looks back into the Narrows. About half of the expendable White Legs were killed, either in the initial explosions or by the falling rock. The survivors look at the carnage behind them in awe. Even from this distance Sicarius can hear their shouts of triumph. Only minutes ago the Sorrows were making similar sounds. _So what they say is true, then. Pride does indeed go before destruction. _Sicarius smiles at his private joke.

He turns and addresses his Legionaries. "We have struck a crushing blow against the enemies of Caesar." He pauses, giving the Legionaries a chance to bask in praise for a moment before continuing. "Our mission is not yet over, however." He points at the entrance of a cave in another part of the Narrows. A few Sorrows are running into and out of the cave. Coming in they bring injured Dead Horses and Sorrows hunters. Those who are leaving the cave run down to the battleground, looking to save more of their wounded comrades. "It seems as though the survivors are gathering at that cave. We are going to go down there and finish the job. Understood?" The Legionaries all nod. "True to Caesar." Sicarius says. The Legionaries salute and respond in kind. "True to Caesar."

Fifty minutes later

White Bird's Cave

_Twenty-six. _The number rings in Daniel's mind, cold as steel, a heavy burden that weighs on his shoulders. _Twenty-six_. That is the number of surviving Sorrows. _Twenty-six. _The rest were killed by White Legs, died in the rock avalanche, or succumbed to their wounds in White Bird's Cave. A pile of bodies lies just outside the cave entrance, the set where all the dead bodies of Sorrows and Dead Horses placed so as to not get in the shaman's way. Later on the Sorrows will have a funeral service and will bury their dead tribe mates at the burial ground.

_Assuming there is a later for any of us _Daniel thinks to himself grimly. He helped out White Bird for a while, but eventually his energy was drained away by grief and he had to leave the cave and get some fresh air. Now he sits on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling off the ledge, deep in thought. The pile of bodies is not far behind him, an ever present reminder of his failure.

_It's just like the Tar Walkers. And the Crazy Horns. _Daniel shakes his head and sighs. _Or New Canaan. Must I live to see another failure? How long before the sins of New Canaan are paid for? _His submachine gun leans against a log nearby, out of his reach. Not that it matters, the battle is already over.

Daniel is so deep in thought that he doesn't hear Waking Cloud's approach. She stops at his side and says "Daniel, it's not your fault. You never could have seen it coming." _Twenty-six. _Daniel shakes his head. "No, it is my fault, Waking Cloud. I could have stopped them, I **should **have stopped them. I let them get caught up in the moment, I let them run right into that trap. It is all my fault."

The Sorrows midwife is silent, but she places one of her hands on Daniel's shoulder. "You could not stop them. Once they had victory in their grasp, they could not let it go. They had to kill the White Legs; they had to have their revenge. Nothing you could have said or done would have stopped them." _Twenty-six. _Daniel just shakes his head and doesn't say a word. Waking Cloud stands silently at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. After five minutes of companionable silence she turns to leave. Daniel sighs softly as she walks away. _Twenty-six._

Suddenly he hears a soft cry, almost like a sigh, and his head whips around. Waking Cloud collapses to the ground , a tomahawk sticking out of her skull. Daniel scrambles onto his feet and looks around wildly. Then he sees them, descending along the sides of the Narrows, scrambling to the ground in front of White Bird's Cave. These aren't tribals, or raiders, or slavers. No, these are true warriors, all dressed in similar armor. Their leader has a fox head helmet and wears armor with a banner on it that protrudes behind his head. On the red banner is the yellow image of a bull, the symbol of the Legion.

The leader steadies his sidearm, a suppressed 12.7mm pistol, on Daniel. "Hold up your hands and surrender, man of New Canaan. There is no need for any more bloodshed." Daniel glances at his submachine gun, knowing that it is too far away for him to reach it before this Legionary or ones of the others shoot him. But he still has his .45 Auto pistol, tucked in a holster hidden underneath his shirt.

The Legionary with the fox head seems to read his mind. "I know that the New Canaanites are famed for their prowess with their trademark pistols. I hear that no man or woman of New Canaan will ever go anywhere without one." He smiles coldly at Daniel, aiming the pistol at the missionary's head. "I assure you that I will kill you before you can draw your sidearm. I suggest you obey my commands, dissolute. Obey, and you and these tribals might yet survive."

Daniel slowly raises his hands in defeat, knowing that at this point there is nothing he can do. Going for his weapon will just get him killed. One of the Legionaries marches him over to a boulder, jamming his riot shotgun into Daniel's back all the while. "Kneel." Daniel kneels in front of the rock. "Hands behind your back." Daniel lowers his hands, feeling ashamed of himself. _I'm sorry I failed you _he thinks to himself as the Legionary ties his hands together by the wrists. The New Canaanite missionary can't tell if he's apologizing to God, the New Canaanites, Joshua, the Sorrows, or just Waking-Cloud. Tears begin to roll down his cheeks as he thinks about the Sorrows midwife. He begins to sob, and the rest of the world seems to disappear, leaving only him and his grief.

Sicarius shakes his head as he watches the missionary cry. "I thought these New Canaanites were tougher than that." he says to Brutus. The Veteran Decanus shrugs. "Maybe they went soft after the White Legs butchered them and burned their city." Sicarius turns to the entrance of the cave. "Legionaries, with me," he yells. The men all follow him into the cave, weapons raised, leaving the crying missionary behind them.

The White Legs are moving throughout the Narrows, picking the spoils form the battlefield and searching for any places where more Sorrows may be lurking other than this cave. Meanwhile Sicarius and his Legionaries came here to capture or kill the group hiding in this cave. Sicarius ordered his men to spare the New Canaanite man, as he could get some information from torturing him. _He's so broken we might not need to hurt him. I might be able to get him to tell me what I know simply by saying that refusal to comply will mean the death of the surviving Sorrows. _The Frumentarius also intended to torture the shaman and any tribals they captured alive. There was some information he needed to know, like where all the children were being kept, since they clearly were not in the Narrows with the rest of the tribe.

The Legionaries find themselves in a large chamber in the cave, lit by a large fire and dozens of torches. The chamber is filled with injured tribals, who lie on the ground with wounds wrapped in cloth or hides, their skin pale and clammy. About half of them look to be close to death. A few Sorrows wander around the room, handing out food, water, and tribal remedies to the injured. The shaman sits in the center of the room, making some kind of broth in a pot over the fire. Every head turns when the Legionaries step into the chamber.

Sicarius barks an order and the Legionaries fan out, surrounded the tribals. He steps forward and speaks to the shaman, who eyes him calmly. "I have come to give you and your tribe a proposition." Sicarius says. The shaman crosses his arms and says "Oh? What is that?" His voice is slow, but at least he speaks English. Sicarius gestures at the Legionaries. "Each man or woman among you will be given a simple choice: surrender or die. If you refuse to surrender then you will be executed, here and now."

The room is silent for a long moment, the Sorrows eyeing the Legionaries fearfully. The shaman looks around the room, catching the eyes of each tribal individually and seeming to converse with them silently. Finally he turns back to Sicarius and says "We shall surrender, then. You will get no trouble from us."

Sicarius nods and his Legionaries usher the tribals who can walk, including the shaman, out of the cave. They leave the injured Sorrows behind. When a few of the tribals ask questions or begin to protest they are immediately beaten by the nearest Legionary until they are silent again. They wisely decide to stay silent and just follow the orders of the Legionaries.

Sicarius marches the Sorrows down into the Narrows, picking up the New Canaanite man along the way. The Legionaries and their captives meet up with the White Legs in the burned out camp where the battle was fought earlier. The White Legs are looting the corpses of the dead Sorrows and Dead Horses. Sicarius notices with disgust that the tribals loot their own with the same disrespect as they loot the corpses of their enemies. _Scavengers._

The White Legs eye the captives with interest as the Legionaries approach. The New Canaanite man, who was crying earlier, seems to have pulled himself together, and now he stares at the White Legs with undisguised fury. _Maybe there is some life still left in you _Sicarius muses.

The Legionaries gather all the captives in one spot and make them all sit on their knees. Sicarius looks over the group, his eyes cold and calculating. The tribals look around fearfully, men and women alike. _Good, fear is good, I can use that. Defiance is a little bit trickier, but fear works just fine._

"I am Sicarius," the Frumentarius shouts, his voice calm, and commanding. "My men and I are Legionaries of Caesar's Legion. Glorious Caesar has seen fit to send us to end the legacy of the New Canaanites. Unfortunately, you tribals are part of that legacy." Sicarius pauses, glaring at the Sorrows coldly. "But there is still hope for you survivors. If you cooperate with me, then Caesar will grant you mercy. If you refuse to help me, then your fate is sealed." He waves his hand in the direction of the White Legs, the burned huts, and the dozens of corpses.

Sicarius points at one of the Sorrows and a nearby Legionary hauls her to her feet. "I will meet each of you individual. I will ask each of you the same questions. If one of you lies and your information is contradicted by your tribe mates later on, you will be killed." Sicarius leads the selected tribal deeper into the Narrows. The Legionaries know what to do; they will guard the tribals until Sicarius has questioned them all. If a tribal lies or refuses to cooperate, Sicarius will send the tribal to the Legionaries with orders to execute him or her.

_Of course, we'll kill the lot of them once the questioning if over, but I see no reason to tell them that before they give me the information I require._ Sicarius smiles maliciously. _One tribe destroyed. Now it's time to deal with Graham and his Dead Horses. Caesar will be pleased._

Angel Cave

Daniel is pale and growing weaker by the minute, his voice having become little more than a whisper. The loss of blood, the cuts, and infection, and the exposure are taking their toll. "Joshua," he whispers hoarsely. "The Legionaries tortured them for information. They know where the Sorrows are hiding their children and their old. They know where the other New Canaanites are hiding."

Joshua's blood has run cold from the chilling tale Daniel has already told. This information just makes it worse. "Is there any time? Can I send warriors out to stop them?" Joshua asks hopefully. Daniel shakes his head. "The Legionaries left with a good portion of the White Legs hours ago. There is no way you can reach the camp in time to stop them." Daniel coughs violently, spitting out blood.

"Joshua… the Legionaries, and the White Legs… they'll be coming for you next. You… and the Dead Horses." Daniel coughs again. "You're all that remains of New Canaan. The Legionaries… will stop at nothing to finish you. The White Legs are all too eager… to assist them, even if it means they serve as… cannon fodder." Daniel coughs again, and when next he speaks, it is clear that he is nearing the end. "You'll have to use whatever means are at your disposal… to defeat them. I was wrong, Joshua. Running… is not an option. The Legionaries will follow you… wherever you go, even the Grand Staircase… and the White Legs will follow."

Daniel smiles weakly. "In the end… you were right, Joshua. We can't flee Zion. You have to… take the fight to them. Destroy them. Or… you can defend this camp. Your choice." The missionary reaches upwards with one hand, and Joshua clasps it. "Goodbye, Joshua. God… bless… you…" With a sight, Daniel becomes still. His grip loosens, but Joshua holds on for a few moments longer.

Joshua walks out of the cave, anger burning deep within him. The Dead Horses watch him angrily stalk away, but they leave him be. _So, this is how you fight, Caesar? Destroying the weak, the helpless, those who have done you no harm? Send me your Legionaries and your White Leg dogs, Caesar. I'll send each of the godless demons to hell. _Joshua looks ups at the afternoon sun hanging over Zion. _Maybe I can't stop your Legionaries; maybe they will kill me and the Dead Horses. But I will remind your men and the White Legs why the "Great Caesar" fears me so. I will show them why the Burned Man is not to be trifled with._


	8. Chapter 8

Part 7: Calm before the Storm

Zion Canyon, Utah

Three Marys

White Leg Fortress

An air of excitement is about the White Legs camp after the raiders return home, carrying the spoils of last night's battle. Tribals trade weaponry and equipment with one another, while others make more poisons or do weapon maintenance. Thankfully Ulysses had shown these tribals who to maintain weapons when the Frumentarius was with them, otherwise the White Legs would be a much less effective force.

Salt-Upon-Wounds declares a grand feast when the raiders return. Apparently for this tribe of scavengers and raiders a "feast" just means "eat as much pre-war canned food and animal meat as you could every want." Sicarius and his Legionaries opt out of the feast, choosing to make their own meals and celebrate their victory in private. The White Legs, warlike tribe that they are, feels the need to celebrate loudly and raucously after the victory at the Narrows.

Sicarius sits on a log beside the fire in the Legion camp, wiping the interior of his brush gun's breech with an oiled cloth. The other Legionaries are doing similar things; sharpening machetes, cleaning guns, and patching up armor. Not a single Legionary was killed in the battle of the Narrows, but some of them had been injured and so they started making bitter drinks and healing powders.

After Sicarius interrogated the Sorrows he sent a group of the fastest, strongest White Legs and some of his Legionaries to find the refuge outside of the canyon where the Sorrows elders and children had been kept, along with what remained of the New Canaanites. The Sorrows had given him the information easily, as if they were unused to having an enemy who would slaughter them without a care. _Living in a canyon like this, so isolated, one can imagine that they aren't used to combat like this at all._ Afterwards Sicarius had slaughtered them all, save for one Sorrows man that he crucified. He also crucified one of the wounded Dead Horses, along with the New Canaanite man who had lived among the Sorrows, Daniel.

Once the raiders returned from their mission, Joshua Graham would be the last New Canaanite, and the Dead Horses the last tribe of Zion. The White Legs didn't live in the canyon, and even if the Legion didn't take them Sicarius doubted that they would stay here. Sicarius imagines that they would return to the Great Salt Lake, and go back to warring with their neighbors, the 80s tribe.

Sicarius has still not decided whether or not he wants to bring the White Legs into the fold of the Legion. To the tribe's credit, they were fiercely loyal to the Legion, willing to die for it if necessary. On the other hand, they had failed to do what Caesar asked of them, and they weren't particularly good fighters, even for tribals. Were it not for the "storm drums" that Ulysses had given to them and shown them how to use, the White Legs would be no better than any other tribe. Their major advantage, besides their hardware, was their numbers. Also, they knew nothing of living the land, and while that could be taught, it would take some time to fully assimilate them into the Legion. The Great Kahns were civilized enough that it was a quick transition from raiders to Legionaries. It would take much longer for the White Legs.

Sicarius wasn't overly concerned about beating the Dead Horses. The White Legs were numerous and loyal, and no tribals could hope to stand against the might of Caesar's Legion. The only variable that might cause some problems was Joshua Graham himself. Even if the complete destruction of the Sorrows horrified the Dead Horses, they still would probably obey Graham unconditionally. Some of the warriors used .45 Auto pistols, and Sicarius had to imagine that Graham personally trained the Dead Horses to use them effectively. They wouldn't be as good as New Canaanite marksmen, but they would still be formidable in a large group.

The odds were stacked in the Legion's favor, and Sicarius took heart in that. Joshua Graham had wanted to exterminate the White Legs in a direct assault on the Three Marys. Sicarius had learned this when he tortured and interrogated the New Canaanite missionary named Daniel. The only reason Graham had never gone forward with the plan was that the numbers were against him. He needed both tribes to unite in order to defeat the White Legs. Daniel had been obstinate in his refusal to allow the Sorrows to lose their "innocence" and become a militant tribe like the Dead Horses. Eventually Graham probably could have pushed things in his favor and gotten the Sorrows to help him, with or without Daniel's permission. Unfortunately for him, the Legionaries had arrived before such an event could take place. Now, with the Sorrows completely annihilated, victory was assured for the Legion and the White Legs. It was only a matter of time.

The Narrows

Former Sorrows Tribe camp

Joshua Graham kneels in the ruins of a Sorrows hut. His hands brush away the ash and burned rubble that is all that remains of what was once the home for at least six tribals. As he runs his fingers through the ash, he touches something hard and round. He brushes aside the ash and finds himself looking down at a scorched black human skull. The former New Canaanite recoils slightly. The skull seems to stare at him accusingly from its empty sockets. Its toothy grin seems to be set in a cruel smile, as though the skull is laughing at him. The skull seems to taunt him: _this is what will happen to you and the tribals you harbor._

Joshua stands up and wipes the ash off his hands. The usually white bandages have become grey from ash all the way up to his elbows. His shoes are similarly coated in ash. Until he gets the chance to replace his bandages and clean his clothing, the smell of fire and the ashes will cling to him. _A remainder of what I let happen here _Joshua can't help but think.

The Dead Horse warriors that came with him are poking at the burned out shells of other huts, looking for anything that might be salvageable. Joshua knows that they will find nothing. The White Legs are a tribe of raiders and scavengers. Anything useful was certainly looted by them.

The White Legs apparently burned all the corpses, tossing them into whatever burning hut was closest. The dirt is still red with dried blood, and the nearby pool and stream still run red with blood. Joshua notices that in some of the old fires he can find the burned remains of White Leg outfits. Apparently they had no more respect for their own dead than they had for their enemies' dead.

Dead Horse scouts who ran deeper into the Narrows report that all the caves have been ransacked, everything inside either burned or taken by the White Legs. Like a horde of locusts, the White Legs leave only desolation in their wake. Joshua could only imagine that their homeland by the Great Salt Lake looked much like this camp.

The thought that the White Legs were executing the wick, old, and the children of the Sorrows, along with the New Canaanites who lived among them, made Joshua sick. _How could anyone do this to another human? How could anyone slaughter others so thoughtlessly and so brutally?_ Joshua didn't know if the White Legs had reached the Sorrows sanctuary yet, but he knew that by nightfall he would be the last of the New Canaanites, and the Sorrows tribe would be no more. The fact that he could do nothing about it made it even worse.

_Maybe this is punishment for my sins. Certainly this is my fault. If I had never returned to New Canaan, Caesar never would have ordered the White Legs to destroy the city. He never would have ordered them to kill off the tribes the New Canaanites sheltered. I was foolish to think I could stop this. Sooner or later I was going to be punished for my actions at the Malpais Legate. I had hoped that when and if that moment came, I would be the one who was punished. Not the Sorrows, not the Dead Horses, and not the New Canaanites._

Joshua turns and starts to head down the path that leads out of the Narrows. "Let's go," he yells over his shoulder. The Dead Horses, eager to leave this desolate place, make no arguments. They follow closely behind him, not walking out of the Narrows, but fleeing from it. Fleeing from the Narrows… and the fate that it seems to predict for their tribe.

The Three Marys

White Leg Fortress

Drums beat in the night, and the triumphant shouts of the White Legs echo off the canyon walls. The raiders who went out to find the Sorrows tribe sanctuary have returned with the news that the Sorrows and the New Canaanites have been completely wiped out. They come carrying all of the food, supplies, and weaponry that they pilfered from the people they killed. The Legionaries who went with the raiders return to the Legion camp, confirming the stories that the Sorrows are no more, as are their New Canaanite companions.

Afterwards Sicarius discusses his plans for the attack on the Dead Horses. He plans to wait a few days, as the Legionaries and the White Legs have both recently fought and should get a few days to rest and prepare. About half of the White Legs were not present at the Narrows battle, so Sicarius could send them to assault the Dead Horses camp sooner, but he worries that without the aid of the Legionaries the tribals may be easily repelled. The Frumentarius doesn't want to have a long, drawn out fight against the Dead Horses. He wants to hit the tribals hard and fast, and finish them off in less than a day.

_Everything is falling into place. Soon we will cut down the Dead Horses and end the legacy of Joshua Graham. Caesar will greatly reward me when I return with the head of the Burned Man._ When he goes to bed that night, Sicarius slips into sleep with a smile on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 8: Gathering Forces

Zion Canyon, Utah

Angel Cave, in the Dead Horses Encampment

A crack in the ceiling of the cave sends a single ray of sunlight into the cave below. Joshua Graham stands ramrod straight underneath that crack, letting the light wash over him and bring him into sharp focus. His audience sits all around him, filling the small cave chamber. These are the most respected members of the Dead Horses tribe: the tribal Elders, the greatest warriors, and the most experienced scouts.

Never before has Joshua called for a meeting like this. As the tribe's acting war chief, he has usually planned and executed missions of war without asking the Dead Horses for their blessing. But what he is proposing today is more extreme than anything he has ever done before. What he was asking the tribe to do could either give them the victory they have sought for… or utterly destroy them.

As a former Mormon minister and preacher, Joshua has always been good at public speaking. Even after the flames of Caesar marked him he retained his speaking prowess. It had been a long time since that skill had ever been necessary, however, and Joshua was worried that his skills might be rusty. Nevertheless, he had to try. He was certain that if he couldn't convince the Dead Horses to go forth with his plan the White Legs would eradicate the tribe.

_The Tar Walkers, the Crazy Horns, New Canaan, the Sorrows... the White Legs have killed too many. I will not sit idly while they plot to annihilate the last tribe of Zion. _Once again the chilling thought that he was the last of the New Canaanites came to mind. He resisted the urge to shudder. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by people, he felt more alone then he ever had before in his life.

_Even when I became the Legate, God never forgot me. When I returned from the Grand Canyon, the New Canaanites brought me back into the fold. But now... maybe this is my final punishment. Watching everyone die because of me._

Joshua shakes the thoughts from his mind; they will do him no good now. He looks up and speaks to the assembled tribals. They watch him eagerly, hanging on to his every word. "Many years ago, the Dead Horses were a weak tribe." Joshua begins. "Enemy tribes bested them in warfare, pushing you out of your homeland at Dead Horse Point. No sanctuary waited for the tribe in Zion; the hunting grounds were dominated by the Tar Walkers and the Crazy Horns, while the Sorrows ignored the plight of the Dead Horses entirely. Raiders, prospectors, and slavers all used the Dead Horses to their advantage." The tribals cringe at Joshua's words, remembering their less then admirable history.

"And then came the day when the Legion discovered you. When _I _discovered you. I raised you up, taught you the things that would make you warriors, conquerors, a tribe to be both feared and revered." Joshua continued. The tribals nod their heads, looking at their war chieftain admirably.

"You were taught how to wage war, how to scout, how to make better remedies from the plants around you. The Dead Horses became strong. They vanquished their enemies, gained new territory, and claimed their own hunting grounds. You were ready to follow Caesar and his Legion."

Joshua paused for a moment. "Then Caesar suffered his first defeat, losing the majority of his armor because of _me_. As punishment, he had me covered in pitch, lit on fire, and cast into the Grand Canyon. That vile place was to me my grave. Were it not for God's grace, it would have been."

The tribals listened well, even though they knew all of this already. Joshua went on to speak of his return to New Canaan, and his people's ready acceptance of him. He spoke of returning to the Dead Horses and showing them how to live on their own, leading them away from Caesar's Legion.

"For a time there was peace in Zion. The four tribes kept to themselves, staying within their own territories and hunting grounds. But then everything changed for the worse. The White Legs came from the Great Salt Lake of Utah, bringing death and destruction with them." He paused, watching as the name of the tribe brought flashes of anger into the eyes of many of the tribals in his audience.

"The city of New Canaan was destroyed, its survivors scattered. Some died out in the Wastes, while others made their way to the only sanctuary we had: Zion. There we found solitude and safety amongst the various tribes. Many went to live among the Sorrows, while I decided to return to the Dead Horses."

Joshua pauses once again, sighing before he continues. "We thought we were safe. We thought that the White Legs could never make it into Zion. But we were wrong. For many seasons we have fought tooth and nail against the White Legs. It was not enough. Tribe after tribe fall to them: first the Crazy Horns, then the Tar Walkers, and then the Sorrows. I am the last of the New Canaanites, so I suppose they destroyed my tribe, too."

Joshua lets the information sink in. The New Canaanites were, by all accounts, a strong group. No tribe of Zion would consider themselves to have been even equal to the New Canaanites, let alone greater than them. The idea that the White Legs had completely annihilated all of the New Canaanites but one… it was unthinkable, beyond the comprehension of the Dead Horses.

"You, the Dead Horses, are the last tribe of Zion. Even now the White Legs are preparing to march on this camp and destroy us all. Escape is not an option, as the White Legs are between us and the only escape route we know of. Therefore, only two options are available to us." Joshua pauses and the tribals all lean in, eager to hear what he will say next.

"We can stay here, wait for the White Legs, and try to defend this camp." Joshua shakes his head slightly. "This area is not easy to defend, and I don't know that we can win in a siege. Which leaves one final solution." Again Joshua pauses. _This is it, the moment that decides it all _Joshua thinks grimly.

He plows on, finishing his speech. "I want to gather up all of the Dead Horses and launch an assault on the Three Marys before the White Legs get the chance to retaliate. We will drive them out of their refuge and destroy them. That, I believe, is our greatest chance at victory. However, I will not order such a military action without the approval of you elders. So I ask that you talk amongst yourselves and make a decision. Should you choose to go forward with my plan, I will need every Dead Horse to take part in this assault. If you choose that path, no one will be allowed to sit this battle out. We will either win and secure Zion for ourselves and our children… or be completely destroyed."

With his speech concluded, Joshua went silent. He stood beneath the light of the crack in the cave ceiling and waited for the tribals to make their decisions. The Dead Horses argued amongst each other for almost an honor before finally coming to a conclusion. The Dead Horse High Elder, the oldest man in the entire tribe, finally stood on his aching bones to deliver to Joshua the decision of the tribe.

Joshua stood ramrod straight and waited with a mix of dread and finality. _It is their decision to make_ he reminded himself. _I cannot force this on them. I already brought the destruction of three tribes and the New Canaanites. I will not force the Dead Horses to risk their lives on a gambit._

The cave chamber became silent as the elder stood. His skin is brown and wrinkled, like an old brown paper bag from before the war. When he speaks, his voice his raspy and quiet, but filled with power. His eyes do not waver and he delivers his decree to Joshua. "The Dead Horses," the elders says confidently, "Have chosen to follow you into battle against the White Legs. We wish to assault the Three Marys."

Joshua let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Thank you, High Elder." The old man nodded and sat down again. Looking around the room Joshua said "If that is the decision of the tribe, then it is time to discuss plans for the assault. Scouts must be sent out to gather the entire tribe together. If this plan is too succeed, everyone needs to know what is going on…" The next four hours were sent planning the assault on the Three Marys.

That night, a little after midnight

The Three Marys, fortress of the White Legs

The wide path that leads into the Three Marys looks strangely ominous, as though the crack in the wall of the cliff was the maw of some ravenous monster. Joshua tries to push away the thought, but it stubbornly remains with him.

The night air is cool and the full moon shines high in the night sky. The stars are slightly dimmed by the presence of the moon, but they still manage to showcase their brilliance. High pitched clicking sounds echo in the air as mutated bats fly about, searching for their moth and mosquito prey. The Virgin River flows slowly in this place, and the trickling of the running water is pleasant to Joshua's ears. Every now and again there is a splash as a fish leaps out of the water to catch a low flying insect and falls back into the water.

The entirety of the Dead Horses tribe stands behind Joshua. Were he just a simple tribal chieftain, this moment would feel empowering, but he has lead far more warriors before. When he was a Legate, hundreds and even thousands of Legionaries were his to command. The Dead Horses numbered in the dozens, not nearly as large a force as Joshua had once led… and yet he felt more proud of these men and women then he had ever felt about any of the Legion.

As far as numbers go, the White Legs and the Dead Horses would be evenly matched. This battle wouldn't be about numbers, though. It would be about equipment, strength, tactical advantages, and most importantly, resolve. And while Joshua knew full well that the White Legs had better weaponry, he knew for a fact that the Dead Horses had far more resolve. They were fighting for their home and for their future, and of course, for the revenge of their fallen friends.

_But with their Legion masters among them, the White Legs will fight like unleashed demons to prove their worth _Joshua muses. In preparation for the assault, Joshua brought all of the weaponry the tribe had with them. While the majority of the Dead Horses used either war clubs or .45 Auto pistols, some were now armed with fire axes, hunting shotguns, .45 Auto submachine guns, cowboy repeaters, hunting rifles, 9mm submachine guns, trail carbines, and more. As this may be the final battle the tribe every fights in, Joshua held nothing back in terms of weaponry. Every pre-war medical chem and tribal remedy in the tribe's possession had been brought as well, in preparation for what would most definitely be a brutal battle.

Joshua pulls his pistol outs of its holster and chambers the first .45 Auto round. The weight of A Light Shining in Darkness is reassuring in his hand. This pistol has been his weapon of choice for most of his life. He even used it during his time as the Legate of the Legion. It seemed fitting that, if he were to die today, his trusted side arm would be at his side to the end.

_ And hopefully I'll be able to kill some of the Legionaries with it. You'd enjoy that irony, wouldn't you, Caesar?_

Joshua turns back to his tribal forces. He begins to speak to them, voice calm and commanding, the voice of a natural leader. "Tonight, for better or worse, the battle we waged for years will be over. We will either destroy the White Legs and reclaim our home, or we will die trying. Whatever happens, fight with all you have, and may we see each other again in Heaven." Joshua raises his free hand, and the entire tribe yells a war cry that echoes off the canyon walls.

_And so the battle begins._


End file.
